Dagger Bitten
by Rayn12
Summary: An unexpected visitor stirs up trouble for the Columbia Basin alpha and his family.
1. Chapter 1

It was a slow day. A slow day at the end of a slow week, actually, which was why I was perched on a ladder, oiling my garage bay doors. Gabriel, my teenaged assistant, and his sisters were in the office; the girls scrub the place down on Saturdays, and Gabriel gets all my shop's paperwork. The week was slow enough that he had managed to clear the entire stack, a feat roughly equivalent to moving Mt. Rainier with a shovel, at least to my mind. It's a minor sort of miracle that I manage to keep my shop functioning as a business in my intervals between assistants. I'd had Gabriel running inventory for the last few days, to keep him busy. He's a good worker: not only had he completed the inventory, he had designed some new service and inventory database. He was setting it up now. My latest restoration project was coming along nicely, but I'd sent it out for work on the paint and upholstery on Thursday and it would be gone for at least a week. If things stayed like this, I'd need a second project car. Since they provided half my income as it was, it didn't matter much to me either way. For now, though, I was running out of spring cleaning projects.

I heard a car slow to an idle on the street outside; it was running too well to belong to a potential client, though, so I didn't pay any attention until I heard a car door open.

"Hey, Mom!"

I couldn't suppress my grin. My step daughter, clearly discernable since her hair was currently the color of radioactive lime sherbet, slid out of the passenger seat of the dark sedan that had just pulled up in front of my shop. Darryl's, and he was driving, judging by the equally dark arm that slid briefly out the driver's side window in what I could only assume was intended to be a wave. I didn't fault him for the underwhelming gesture. Darryl and I got along alright, even if he didn't come to Bad Movie Night every week. He was a good friend to my husband, more than a good friend. He was Adam's second in command, in charge of helping care for all the 30-odd werewolves in the Columbia Basin Pack. He was also a little unhappy that I now outranked him.

Technically I had been Adam's mate, and thus at the top of the pack hierarchy, for years, but most of that time it was simply a courtesy title. Like the werewolves, I have two forms. My second one happens to be a coyote; also a predator, but not one who can hold territory against wolves, nor one that wolves will tolerate long in the wild. Adam named me his mate to keep his pack from killing me when I moved to town. For the most part the werewolves ignored me and I ignored them and everyone was happy. It wasn't until events forced us together and I realized that Adam really meant what he had said that things got complicated. Which is not to say that I don't find my current situation happ_ier_, because I do, it's just also a little bit confusing. In addition to learning to live with someone else after a decade of independence I was also getting used to my new station and power within the pack. Werewolves, like their smaller, wild brethren, are very conscious of things like that.

We were all having a bit of trouble adjusting. The only one who seemed completely unperturbed was Adam's teenage daughter, Jesse, who acted like she had planned the whole thing. Maybe she had. I certainly wouldn't put it past her. As soon as the engagement was announced she started calling me Mom, a habit I found as endearing as it was alarming. I am way too young to be the parent of a teenager.

My daughter bounded up to the ladder.

"Do you have some time this afternoon? I was hoping you could help me with some homework. Dad's busy just now, but I called Gabriel and he said it was a quiet day at work, and that you might not mind an excuse to get outside."

That was certainly the truth. "Your homework is outside?"

She nodded. "It's for our tree-hugger, save the earth unit in science. I have to go into nature and observe."

I chuckled, thinking of the many, many ways we could give her biology teacher more nature than he bargained for. The werewolves had just recently made their existence public, however, and we all had to be on our best behavior. Too bad. "Sure," I told her. "Sounds like fun."

"Can Gabriel come?"

I put on my best stern parent face. "Is this homework or a date?"

"I promise, I'll get all my work done!"

If anything, she would get more work done with him around. Gabriel was a good influence. I relented, as I had planned from the start. "Alright, Gabriel can come. If he wants to."

Gabriel wanted to. He'd be up for a trip to Mars if Jesse suggested it. When his mother came to pick up his sisters he and Jesse piled into my ancient VW Rabbit and we headed for the wild outdoors.

The assignment required her to look at an area near human populations, so instead of taking her to the nature preserve we drove to a hilly area at the edge of town. It was a beautiful day, and we were all in high spirits, laughing and joking around as we helped Jesse find tracks, photograph plants, and otherwise explore. Helping with homework was one of the parental duties I'd been a little nervous about (I've always been far more a humanities person than a math/science person), but if the biology homework stayed like this I'd be able to hack it.

"We're almost back to the car," I noted, two hours and a couple hundred photographs into the excursion. "How are we doing? Just about done?"

Jesse scanned the assignment sheet stuffed into her spiral. "Um, yeah. Looks pretty good. I just need to observe a few things at a stream or river, and then we'll be all done."

"We passed one, a little while back, while you two were playing tag instead of focusing on the assignment," I commented dryly. "It'll take us about ten minutes to get back to it. Maybe a little less, if we angle more to the left."

"You know," Jesse informed me as I steered us more or less back the way we had come, "educational studies have proven that taking small breaks during study improves information retention and comprehension. You're not supposed to concentrate on something for more than 25 minutes at a stretch."

"So your defense is that flirting helps you learn?"

Gabriel grinned at me, unrepentant.

"That's my story," Jesse agreed, her grin matching his.

I sighed, shaking my head in mock disappointment. "You two just better--"

Jesse nearly tripped over me as I stopped short. "Mercy? You ok?" I didn't answer right away; I was a little preoccupied, trying to sort out the scent that hit me as we crested a small rise.

Were, definitely, and female. Not someone I knew, which was bad. I knew all the females in Adam's pack; there were only three. While there are lone wolves and they don't generally mean harm, females are never allowed to live outside a pack. Either this visitor had been Changed outside of a pack and no one had heard about her or she belonged to a pack that hadn't announced they were 'visiting'. If the first, she was very likely not in control of her wolf, which meant she was dangerously, homicidally violent. If the second, it would be the beginning of a turf war. It didn't really matter, since the appropriate thing for me to do either way is get the kids out of here in a big damn hurry. I paused a moment longer, making sure I had the stranger's scent fixed in my mind; the more I could analyze it later, the better Adam and Samuel would be prepared to handle the problem. And it was going to be a problem. There were all kinds of alarm bells going off in my mind, the more primal areas of my brain trying to warn me about what they had gleaned from the air. Something about the scent was wrong...

"Jesse, I'm afraid you'll have to settle for observing the river in your front yard. We need to get home now."

"Is everything ok?"

"Yep, we just need to get going." She didn't quite buy it, but she turned around and started heading in the right direction, stuffing her camera and notebook in her bag as she went, and Gabriel followed. I brought up the rear, turning back into the wind every so often to scout behind. No one appeared to be following us, but it was difficult to say for certain. Fortunately we didn't have far to go. As we started down the final hill separating us from the car I figured we were home free. I let myself relax.

It was a little bit too soon.

He was downwind of us, and the wind was temporarily vigorous; there was no way I could have smelled him. He was entirely black and crouched low, hiding in the shadow around the car, equally impossible to see… until he stretched, languidly, and cocked his head, fixing us in his yellow stare. Another strange wolf, just waiting for us. There were no circumstances I could think of where that would be a good thing.

He was moving toward us, leisurely but inexorable, and I was frantically searching for a plan. Running is a really, really stupid idea with a werewolf, unless you are absolutely certain that you can outrun it; their instinct is to chase things that run. Even a friendly wolf will be hard pressed not to chase a frightened, fleeing target, and on two human legs I was no match for our unexpected visitor. There was nothing near us that could provide cover, except the car, and we'd have to pass him to get to it. Werewolves can't swim, their bodies are too dense, but we weren't near any water deeper than my ankles. I was linked to my husband and his pack through pack magic, but I was still pretty inept at using the connections; even if I could convey our circumstances, the pack was just too far away to help. We didn't have any options.

The strange wolf paused in his approach and lowered his head, growling. He sniffed at the wind, then at the ground, probably trying to make sense of my scent. He kept one eye on us, circling slowly. I would have liked to take his distraction as a good sign, but I couldn't make myself believe the lie. Gabriel, Jesse and I posed no threat, no matter how much I tried to stretch my imagination. No human was a match for a werewolf, and he wasn't going to forget about us. He was thin, and wolves are always hungry. I had no gun with silver bullets, no magical Fae knife. Even if I could make it to the Rabbit it might not be enough; I could potentially run him over, but I had the feeling that he would be more than a match for my little car's windshield. Jesse and I both smelled like Adam, but that was probably just antagonizing him. After Adam found our bodies this strange wolf would learn that Adam's smell meant death. That didn't help us now, though, and overall the thought wasn't too comforting. It would be much better if we didn't need to be avenged.

Trying not to feel defeated, I turned my attention to my young companions. Neither Gabriel nor Jesse looked ready to give up. Gabriel had grabbed a rock, holding it so its sharp edge faced outward. Not bad as a makeshift weapon, if we were fighting a dog. Jesse's weapon of choice was her cell phone. She had whipped it out and punched a number on the speed dial. I was tempted to stop her. I was sure she was calling Adam, and he was too far away to do anything to help us. I'd rather his last memory of his daughter not be listening helplessly to her agonized death screams. On the other hand, we weren't dead yet, and some insane part of me refused to admit it was only a matter of time. I tossed the keys to Gabriel and began rapidly stripping out of my clothes. I was going to need complete freedom of movement for this to work.

"I'll get him distracted. When I do, you two walk slowly to the car. Don't run, I don't want him to chase you. I want him to follow me. I can outrun him. Go directly home. Leave it to the pack."

Gabriel was staring at me, clearly wondering what I had in mind as a distraction, but I didn't have time to explain. He'd done alright dating the Alpha's daughter; I'd have to assume he'd be okay with learning something new about his boss. At least he didn't argue with me. He wanted to, but he knew he had to get Jesse away. I shed the last of my clothing, but before I could change Jesse laid a hand on my arm.

"Mercy--" she started worriedly.

"It's ok, Jesse. Really. I can outrun him. Besides, if I let anything happen to either of you, it'd be better for me if I never came back." That was actually true: I'd never be able to look Adam in the face again if I let anything happen to Jesse, and Gabriel's diminutive human mother was one of the toughest, most dominant people I'd ever known (and I'd been raised in the pack of the Marrok, the werewolf who ruled all the packs in North America). She would know how to find me.

"You think the same consequences won't apply to me if I let anything happen to you?" Jesse muttered, but she dropped her hand from my arm, distracted as Adam finally answered the phone. I could hear him say hello. Trying not to wonder if this was the last time I'd hear his voice, I took a breath and shifted.

The world sharpened and deepened as my coyote senses took over. I could smell the fear Gabriel was carefully keeping from his face, and his surprise at my transformation. I could hear the gaps in Jesse's reception as her phone struggled to keep the connection. I could smell the sudden curiosity of our foe as he looked up from the dirt, could hear the whisper of grass and sand under his paws as he took a step toward us. I had apparently aroused his interest.

Well, that was the point, I reminded myself. The strange wolf growled at me again and I growled back, crouching low to the ground and moving to one side. He was getting ready to lunge; I had to make sure that motion would carry him away from Jesse and Gabriel. Of course, there was a better way…

I didn't give myself time to think. I gathered my legs beneath me and threw myself at the wolf.

I had the advantage of surprise. The average werewolf weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of 250 pounds. In coyote form I weigh in at a whopping 32. I don't think either of us expected me to go on the offensive with odds like that. He was surprised enough that I felt my teeth bite into the thick fur protecting his neck before a heavy paw crashed into my side and I went flying to land tumbling end over end in the dirt. I shook my head, trying to clear it as I got ready to run. My ribs burned with each panting breath. I let out an involuntary whimper.

"Mercy!" Jesse cried in horror. She and Gabriel had started toward the Rabbit, but stopped when I went flying. I could hear Adam's voice roaring from the phone in Jesse's hand, but she seemed oblivious to it. Gabriel held her back with both hands, trying to pull her to the car when what she clearly had in mind was running to me. They both froze as the wolf shifted his gaze away from me to stare at them with hungry yellow eyes.

I was going to have to move fast. I tensed, poised for another pass. I would dive underneath him, snapping up at his vulnerable belly. There was no way I would be able to hurt him seriously, but that should get his attention back on me where it belonged. After that, I would just have to keep running at all costs.

It was a great plan, until the wind shifted. A gust reached me, carrying the aroma of sagebrush, the sour scent of my friends' fear... and the distinct odor of the other wolf, the female I had smelled first. I wanted to cry in frustration. If I drew off one wolf, Jesse and Gabriel would be left helpless against the other. I was not a sufficiently interesting target to hold both. As my mind groped desperately for a suitable plan B, the black wolf leapt at Jesse and Gabriel.

In a heartbeat I was moving, praying desperately that I would be able to do something before this thing touched Jesse. I was fast, faster than he was, but over this tiny distance I didn't have time to get in front of him. Instead, I clamped my teeth down on the only part of him I could reach: his tail.

It worked. He turned on me with a snarl, sideswiping Jesse and Gabriel instead of hitting them full on. It would still hurt, but a lot less than teeth and claws. Gabriel was still wrapped around Jesse, effectively cushioning her as they went down. I took advantage of the impact, breaking free and rolling to my feet. My enemy regained his equilibrium as well, with the fluid grace that balances the werewolves' incredible strength. As I faced down my death again, a snarling streak of fur bounded over me, hitting the black wolf's legs and knocking him back to the ground. I heard a ripping sound and smelled the sudden coppery tang of fresh blood before he shoved the newcomer off. She rolled to her feet and darted for him again.

She was so _little_. I wouldn't have believed she was a were at all, except that I could smell it on her. She was only about five feet long from nose to tail, her cinnamon coat shaded with black and cream, maybe 75 pounds; she looked like an average, non-preternatural wolf, maybe even a little on the small side. Stacked up next to a werewolf that's not much. She was snapping and snarling, though, like she was the bigger one, her ears erect and her coat bristling. Exactly as I had been, seconds ago.

It was time I made use of the distraction; it couldn't last very long. Gabriel was helping Jesse up from the ground, scooping up her fallen phone and asking if she could walk. It looked like they were both mostly ok. I moved over to them, trying to keep my pace slow so I didn't draw attention. An eerie silence fell behind me, followed by the subdued noise of bitter struggle. Our time was almost out.

I nudged the kids with my nose, herding them toward the car. Jesse held her head in her hands; she didn't seem to be firing on all cylinders. I knew the first thing Adam would do is have Samuel take a look at her, though, so I wasn't too worried. After centuries of being a doctor, Samuel was good at what he did. The trick was going to be surviving long enough to get her to Adam. We were half way to the Rabbit; behind us, the fighting continued. The scent of fresh blood hung on the now fitful breeze.

A few yards from the car Gabriel broke into a run. I didn't like it, but from the sounds of things our visitors were still occupied, so I let him go. He reached the Rabbit, wrenched open the door, and shoved the key in the ignition. It caught on the first try. He leaned across and opened the passenger door for Jesse and me. I should have hopped in. I should have left the mysterious stranger on her own to live or die. She wasn't pack, and I had family to worry about.

But she was the reason that Gabriel and Jesse and I were still alive. I couldn't turn my back on that. I whined, edging away from the car, looking back at the fight. All I could see was a tangle of fur. I looked back to the car and caught Gabriel's chocolate eyes. He stared at me a tiny moment, then nodded. "We'll send them as fast as we can." He leaned across Jesse and shut the door. Gravel flew as he sped away. They would be safe.

I, on the other hand, was a crazy person. Well, no use worrying about it. I turned to dive in.


	2. Chapter 2

Something had happened while I was looking away.

The female was bigger. Not werewolf sized, but about half again closer than she had been when she had bounded over that hillcrest. More than that, she looked uneven. Her forelegs were slightly but noticeably larger than her hind legs and… off. Not jointed like a normal wolf, but not moving with the bear-like articulation peculiar to the weres, either. As I watched, her right foreleg popped and rippled and she used it to rake her claws across the male's eyes in a lateral movement that would have been impossible for her seconds before. She was changing before my eyes.

Could a wolf become a werewolf? That's sure what it looked like.

It didn't matter now. Changing is an excruciating process for wolves, and the circumstances certainly weren't making it any easier on her. Her opponent seemed to be holding back, trying just as I was to figure out what was happening. He was also favoring his left front leg, where she had struck him on her first pass. As her hind legs stretched to match her foreleg, though, she whined in pain and stumbled, and the black wolf took advantage of her moment of weakness, clamping his jaws around her head and shaking it. Blood dripped from his muzzle; if I didn't do something quickly there would be no point to my sticking around. If could get his attention I could still lead him away… I decided my original plan was still probably the best one and instigated it without delay. Running under the black wolf, I sank my short but sharp teeth into his undefended underside. His blood poured into my mouth, filling me with a bizarre rush of satisfaction and nausea. I had killed a wolf once with just my teeth. Of course, he had been young and stupid. This one wouldn't go down so easy.

Confident that I had his attention, I dodged out from under him in time to miss the furious swipe of claws trying to dislodge me. I wasn't quite so lucky with the teeth.

He grabbed me by the right shoulder, lifting me off the ground, but his grip was superficial, more a nip than a bite. It felt like my skin was being ripped apart rather than cut as my own weight pulled me from the tenuous grasp of his maw. As I slipped he tossed me with a flick of his enormous head, and I went flying into my new partner, who was still off balance. It was not a comfortable happening for either of us. Under her shaggy winter coat she was emaciated, as if she hadn't eaten in weeks; my little coyote bones thumped against thick, solid, fully werewolf ones. The she-wolf yelped and snapped, protesting the new pain, but managed to keep her feet. She was sufficiently in control of herself not to snap _at me_, for which I was profoundly grateful. One good bite from either of these wolves across my neck or belly would finish me permanently.

Fully transformed, the female reminded me of nothing so much as a giant tri-color collie. For reasons I have yet to discover, werewolves tend to have markings more like dogs than like wolves, and in this case it was a seriously odd effect. Despite the unexpectedly friendly appearance she knew how to use her teeth, and she was big for a werewolf. Not as big as Bran's boys, but imposing nevertheless.

With the pain of transformation behind her our chances improved markedly. The male was being cautious, guarding his belly and trying to watch both of us at once. We made that as difficult for him as we could. Between the two of us, we managed to inflict a surprising amount of damage in just a few minutes.

Unfortunately, my new friend was injured, too, and not just from defending my life. I could see rings in her fur around her legs, muzzle, and neck, places where the fur had rubbed off and the skin had gone with it. Old cuts gaped and cracked here and there along her body, the skin only partially healed. It was a little bizarre, given that werewolves usually heal within hours. She was also exhausted, winded and flagging. Whatever had happened to her in the last few days, it had been rough. She was an impressive fighter still; if she were in full form she would certainly have already shut the other wolf down. As things stood, though, the best we could do was hope to hold our own until help arrived. As I danced and dodged I said a little prayer of gratitude that I hadn't stopped Jesse from calling her dad; someone from Adam's pack would show up eventually.

It didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would, but it was still too long. I was bleeding from the ragged slash along my shoulder and breathing with bruised ribs when Mary Jo knocked the black wolf off me and ripped his throat out. I wouldn't be able to run well for a few weeks, but I would live. The female stranger, on the other hand…

She lay where she had fallen moments before, the last time the black wolf had torn into her. Her breaths were shallow and her eyes closed. Bone glinted through the red stained fur of her chest and from a gash down her left hind leg. Her other hind leg was bent at an impossible angle in three places; it made me sick to look at it, although no more than her left ear, which was still attached only by the tiniest thread of skin. Most worrisome of all was the blood spreading quickly across the dirt. I ran for my pants, shifting as I went, and dug my cell phone from my pocket. Mary Jo sat down beside our unknown benefactor and started gently licking her wounds. I scooped my clothes up and ran back to the two of them, pressing Adam's number on my speed dial.

"We're all alive," I panted as soon as he picked up the phone, "and the attacking wolf is dead. Mary Jo took care of it. Where is Samuel?"

"With me, about three minutes away. Gabriel gave us very detailed directions. He and Jesse should be at the house any minute." I sighed with relief. Adam would be much calmer knowing his daughter was safe. So would I. "Are you hurt?" he continued.

"No. Well, a little, but I don't need him for me. Adam, you really need to hurry." I pressed my jacket against the gash in the stranger's stomach that seemed to be responsible for most of the blood. She didn't even twitch.

Adam knew when it wasn't time for questions. "We'll be there."

He hung up, and I turned to Mary Jo and raised my eyebrows politely. Wolves are very good at reading body language; she knew immediately what I wanted. She came over and laid her paws on my jacket, keeping pressure on the wound while I struggled into my clothes.

"Thank you," I told her as I knelt and took over again. "And thank you, for coming so quickly. You saved our lives." I like Mary Jo, but things had been a little tense between us since the local vampire seethe's retaliation against me had gotten her killed. The intervention of a powerful fae had undone the damage to her body, but not to our relationship. This looked like a good opportunity to ease things back toward normal, as long as Mary Jo didn't resent having to save me.

She wagged her tail briefly and nodded, then went back to gentle licks. We sat like that in companionable silence until two of Adam's SUVs drove up, throwing gravel as they stopped a half dozen yards away.

"Mercy, let me have a look at you," Samuel called as he sprang from the car. I was suddenly aware of the blood from my shoulder, which had managed to make a mess of my shirt. I probably looked pretty scary, although the cut itself wasn't bad.

"Not me, Samuel. Have a look at her first."

He swore quietly but comprehensively as he examined his new patient. "After this I am going back to school and getting my vets license," he growled, throwing open his first aid kit.

I decided I didn't want to watch. Instead I wandered over to the cars, where Adam was sending a couple pack members out to scout. His eyes were yellow, wolf eyes, and I didn't like the look on his face when he saw me, but all he said was, "Let's get that bandaged and get you some clean clothes." He led me around to the trunk, which was open, and helped me out of my demolished shirt, a muscle in his cheek twitching with each of my involuntary moans and whimpers. It hadn't hurt nearly that bad going on; I must have had some serious adrenaline in my system. Still, the bite was shallow—no stitches or time off would be required. The first aid kit in his car was well stocked and Adam had me bandaged up in no time. He waited until he had helped me into an oversized, thick T shirt that smelled like him before asking me what happened.

"I don't know what I can tell you. We were walking, working on Jesse's assignment, and I smelled a strange wolf. We headed back to the car, just to be safe, but before we could get there we ran into him," I gestured toward the body of the black wolf, "looking for lunch. I don't know who he is; I've never seen him before, but he wasn't the one I smelled. He attacked us, and then the first wolf, the one I did smell, attacked him. While she held him off Gabriel and Jesse got away; I hung around to help. Mary Jo got here just in time. The black one had just taken the other one out and was turning his attention to me. Adam, can a wolf be made a werewolf?"

He gave me a look.

"I know it sounds odd. Hear me out. When she started the fight she was cinnamon sable and timber wolf sized. Five minutes later she was a werewolf. How does that come about?"

He knew; his face was turning slowly white. It made my stomach knot. In my experience, it is not a good thing when a werewolf goes pale, especially an alpha. Without a word he turned and ran to where the stranger lay between Mary Jo and Sam. I followed, ready to help in case she was about to grow tentacles or something.

"Gena," he breathed, falling to his knees beside her. "Damn. Gena, can you hear me? Hold on, we're going to take care of you. I'm here. It's going to be alright." He found a relatively unharmed spot on her head and started stroking her gently.

I dropped down beside him. "You know her?"

He nodded. "Gena Ellison. She was a member of my pack in Los Alamos."

That explained the strong reaction. A werewolf alpha has a serious urge to protect those he feels responsible for, even if they are not technically his to protect. That goes double if the protectee is female. It had been a sore spot between Adam and I from the get-go. If this wolf had once been in his pack, it wouldn't matter that she wasn't anymore. Adam is as alpha as it gets.

"Think you can talk her into changing?" Samuel asked. "She needs all the help she can get." Sometimes the change between werewolf and human can speed healing. I wasn't sure about the transition between werewolf and wolf, but since she had a human name there was presumably a human form in the mix, too. Somewhere.

"I can try," Adam agreed solemnly. I felt the rush of alpha magic as he gathered it around him. I wasn't sure if it would be of any use, since she technically wasn't a member of his pack, but what do I know? He clearly still considered himself responsible for her, and the fact that she was here might mean she agreed. Or it could be an accident. Either way, if there was the slightest chance it wouldn't hurt to try.  
I stood up, moving away until the tingle of magic no longer made my skin itch. I needed something to do. I would only be in Samuel and Adam's way. I decided to call Jesse instead.

"Mercy, are you okay?" Her voice was shaky and congested.

"Yeah, I'm fine. A scratch and some bruises, nothing to worry about. Mary Jo showed up in the nick of time; it was a really good thing you did, calling your Dad. He said you and Gabriel were back home. Are you both okay?"

"Well, I'm better now. Gabriel's fine. It's a good thing you called, though. No one tells me anything! Are you on your way?"

"Your Dad and Samuel and some of the pack are here taking care of things. When they're done we'll be home."

"'Taking care of things?' What things?"

"Well, the wolf that helped us for one. Apparently she's someone Adam knows."

"No way! Who?"

"Gena Ellison, he said, from Los Alamos."

"That was Gigi? Seriously? She babysat me from, like, the time I was born until we moved! I love her! Can I talk to her?"

Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. "Now isn't a good time."

I had tried to sound calm. Apparently I failed. "What's the matter? Is she okay? Mercy, you have to tell me. Don't be like Dad, please!"

"She's pretty beat up, but wolves are tough. You know that. And Samuel's working on her right now. I'm sure she'll be fine." Samuel was good at his job, after all, and werewolves who are alive tend to stay that way, even if it takes them a little while to get back to their usual health.

"Gigi…" Jesse sounded less than consoled. Whoever this woman was, she was popular around the Hauptman household. Of course, if Adam had let a wolf babysit his human daughter, she must be pretty special. I certainly couldn't find any fault with her after she fought nearly to the death for us. Probably just for Jesse, if you wanted to be all brass tacks about it, but that didn't make me any less alive.

"Don't worry, Jesse. She's in good hands. Just sit tight, and we'll be home in 20 minutes or so, okay?"

"Ok," she agreed grumpily.

I hung up the phone and rejoined Adam and Samuel, snagging Jesse's abused and abandoned bag out of the dirt on the way. The men didn't seem to have made much progress. Gena looked smaller, but only a little, and there were no other signs that she was undergoing a change.

"It was worth a try," Samuel sighed. "She just doesn't have it in her. I can't say I'm surprised. Let's get her back; she won't bleed out on the way home, but she's going to be difficult to stabilize."

Adam and Samuel loaded her very carefully into one of the SUVs. Adam reluctantly slid into the driver's seat, leaving Samuel free to attend to his patient on the return trip. I climbed in beside Adam. The others would take the second vehicle, after they had finished reconnaissance and the pack's witch had finished erasing any trace of the fight. The black werewolf's body still lay in the dirt. I shuddered, thinking how close that had come to being me.

"I didn't think anyone would be able to reach us in time," I told Adam softly. His expression told me that he hadn't thought so, either, and it was still bothering him. "How did we get so lucky?"

"Wildfire training," he answered succinctly.

Ahh. Mary Jo was a firefighter. Foresightful of me, to almost get eaten on a day when she was working nearby. If homework or training had been, say, on the west side of town instead of the east... I shuddered again.

I regretted the motion instantly; Adam's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel and a low growl rumbled deep in his chest. His already overwhelming aura ratcheted up a few notches as well. I couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't superficial, blatantly false, or likely to make things worse, so I settled for laying a hand on my mate's arm, to remind him that in the end we'd all made it through.

Well, sort of.

In the back seat Samuel pulled out his phone; Peter, another of Adam's wolves, answered. "I'm bringing in a patient, and I need some help getting prepped," Samuel explained. While Adam and I listened, Sam gave Peter a list of the medical supplies he'd need and instructions on how to find them. After Adam, Warren, and I had all been seriously injured right in a row, we'd decided it might be prudent to keep that sort of thing on hand, just in case.

"Thanks. Oh, and Peter? Don't use the safe room. Set up in one of the guest rooms. We'll be there soon." Samuel hung up the phone.

"Why not the safe room?" I asked. Adam, as the local Alpha, gets to deal with any wolves who become dangerous, which includes those who have been injured. An injured werewolf is not in full control and will invariably become violent. The basement of Adam's riverside mansion is equipped with a room specially designed to hold a werewolf in, since normal walls and even dead bolted doors are useless against an angry, hungry, or otherwise motivated wolf. It seemed the logical place for my new friend, at least until she was healed and fed.

"She's been shackled recently, in silver. There are marks from the restraints. Waking up in a cage, even a room sized one, is likely to make her agitated. In her condition that's dangerous. She'll have to be monitored at all times anyway, we'll just make sure whoever we leave with her can keep her in check. How dominant is she?"

The question gave Adam something to think about besides how much he didn't like the answer to the first question, the one I had posed. "About like Honey, last time I saw her." The answer was ambiguous; Honey was a fairly dominant wolf, very near the top in Adam's pack, but as a female she took her status from her husband Peter. Peter, a submissive, was on the bottom of the stack. From watching Gena in action, I guessed he was referring to Honey's native disposition rather than her status. Adam continued, confirming my guess. "We shouldn't have any problem if we can rotate through you and the top five or so in the pack."

"I'm going to be very occupied for a while after we get back to the house; you'll call Da and report?"

"I'll inform the Marrok," Adam promised. "I should call Scott as well," he added, mostly to himself. I seized on the comment, though – it offered more opportunity for distraction.

"Who's Scott?"

"A friend, from the Los Alamos pack." We took a turn at death defying speeds, but Adam somehow managed to keep the motion smooth. "What was _going on_ out there?" he snarled.

No one had an answer.

As we approached Adam's house he and I focused more and more on the road, as though we could speed our arrival by sheer force of will. It didn't work. We were still about five minutes away from the house when things went to hell in the backseat.

"Adam!" Samuel snapped. "Pull over, now."

"We're almost—" I started to object, but Samuel cut me off.

"Now."

Adam didn't protest, even though Samuel had issued a command; for the average lone wolf addressing an alpha in his own territory, that was tantamount to suicide. Except, of course, that ultimately Samuel was more dominant than Adam… either way that fight went, it would be bad news. Adam and Samuel can both be patient and reasonable, for werewolves, but that can only ease the friction so far. Fortunately Adam seemed willing to let the breach in protocol slide this time. He and Samuel clearly had other things on their minds. As Adam maneuvered the SUV onto the side of the road and turned around in his seat, Samuel didn't explain, didn't even look over. Just thrust a pocket knife at him.

I didn't catch on quite as quickly as Adam did, which is why I was still looking when Adam plunged the knife into his own arm. I'm not squeamish; after my first few hunts as a coyote I learned to be at peace with killing and with blood. It was still a little disconcerting to see my husband carve into himself.

Werewolf magic is limited and mostly involuntary: youth, healing, the change itself... The alpha, however, has more magical abilities than his pack, abilities he uses to keep the other wolves safe and under control. The ability that Adam was invoking with the knife allows the alpha to give his own flesh and blood to heal a wounded pack member. It's strictly a life and death maneuver; I'd only seen a pack member need that level of help once, when Warren, Adam's third and our best friend, had been mutilated beyond recognition and left in a dumpster by a demon-ridden vampire. That time I'd arrived on scene after it had already been done. Adam had done something similar to bring me formally into the pack, but I'd been a little too busy freaking out at the time to pay much attention.

Adam leaned between the seats to reach Gena.

"See if you can get her to change this time," Samuel urged.

Adam said nothing, but I could feel the magic in him starting to build. I took one quick peek over the back of my seat and hopped out of the car. It's difficult to give a canine, especially a large canine, CPR, because of the size of the mouth. You have to hold the muzzle closed, or all those rescue breaths whoosh right out again. It's much easier if you have a second person. I opened the backdoor opposite Samuel and knelt on the seat, trying to focus on what I needed to do instead of on my panic. I wrapped my hands around Gena's muzzle to keep it closed while Samuel blew air into her through her nose. Although I felt guilty for thinking it, I was glad that part was up to him and not me.

"Take over the breaths, Mercy," Samuel instructed as he deftly tied a bandage in place of my hands. "Adam, can you do compressions for a minute? I need to make sure there's not another bleed."

Figures. At least this time I was able to be useful. The last time Samuel and I had worked on the same patient, he'd yelled at me for failing to set a broken leg. The leg had healed improperly, and he'd had to re-break it to get it straight. Adam, the owner of the leg, hadn't held the mistake against me, but I'd felt like an idiot. This time I could do things right. Not that it looked like it would help my patient much.

Satisfied that his patient wasn't bleeding out, Samuel took over chest compressions again. Adam looked like murder, and the power resonating from him made it hard to breathe in the enclosed space. When he was almost ready to burst from the magic he was building he let it loose, flooding Gena in a wave of strength that I knew from experience would feel like a warm blanket to her, protecting her from fear and pain.

"We need to talk, little one," he told her sternly. "Stay here and speak with me." There was no mistaking the command. Gena, half dead, must have heard it too, because she twitched and started to shrink.

At first I thought I was imagining it, because it took so much longer than it had before. Adam kept talking, though, at once soothing and compelling, and the changes gradually became apparent. The second time Samuel waved me back and checked for a heartbeat, she started breathing on her own. I climbed out of the car again and opened the driver's door. Adam was still focused on Gena, but he slid over until the driver's seat was vacant. I buckled myself in and turned the car on, pulling back out onto the road.

Peter was waiting for us when we pulled up to the house, the door propped open behind him. I jumped out and opened the back door for Samuel. He crawled out, then reached back and took the timber wolf in the back seat into his arms. So she'd made it all the way back. Adam, still in the car, held up a hand to stop them as Samuel turned toward the house. I laid a hand on his arm to relay the message.

"A little farther, Gena," Adam intoned. "Speak with me."

Her fur rippled, and Samuel was holding a naked and battered young woman.

I don't know why it took my so long to work it out; it should have been obvious from the beginning, but it didn't hit me until then. Not wolf into werewolf. _Walker_ into werewolf. It was one of the things my nose had been trying to tell my poor overwhelmed brain all along. She smelled like me. Not exactly the same; about the way a lime smells like a lemon. If I'd ever met another of my kind I'd know if that was close enough to mean something, but I never had. All this time I've thought I was the only one.

She didn't look Native American, but it was difficult to tell for sure: her hair was dark, and if it wasn't as dark as mine it was certainly as straight. Her skin, where it wasn't cut or bruised, was about the same shade as my friend Tony's. Tony can pass for nearly any ethnicity. She might be of mixed heritage, like me. I was suddenly desperately curious to know about her, to know what she might be able to teach me about myself.

Samuel's burden stirred and fluttered her eyes. "Jesse?" she croaked.

"Jesse's fine. She's safe, she's fine. You sleep now, get better." Adam's voice was too tired, too pained to be reassuring, but Gena didn't seem to notice. I couldn't say for certain that she had even heard him. Samuel, still in full crisis mode, was moving almost before Adam had finished speaking, Peter trailing in his wake. Adam, on the other hand, was moving like an eighty year old man as he slid from the SUV and came to stand beside me. Maybe a fifty year old man. Wolves are inherently graceful.

"You made it," I reminded him, "and you were hurt this badly. Warren was hurt worse, and he's fine now. She'll be ok."

He nodded, but without conviction. "Stay with me a little while? I'm going to help Samuel, but first I have some calls to make."

I took his hand and held it tight as we followed Samuel into the house.


	3. Chapter 3

Jesse was waiting for us just inside the front door. She threw herself on me as we walked in, bowling me into Adam, who caught us both in a tight, fierce hug. We stood like that, wrapped around each other and blocking the door, for a few minutes before Jesse released us and stepped back. Her eyes were red but her face was calm.

"I love you," she told me flatly. "Don't die."

"I love you, too. I'm glad you're ok. Thank you for your help." _And for listening when I told you to get to safety. _Jesse's a bright girl, and a person who lives long around wolves gets used to conversations that were largely nonverbal. I knew she could hear the subtext. "Did anyone check you over yet?" She didn't smell like blood, so no cuts or scrapes, but she could still have a concussion. I'd been counting on Samuel to make sure she was ok, but Samuel was occupied just now.

"I feel fine." Jesse waved her hand dismissively. "I'll have a couple bruises, but you don't need a doctor for those."

"I've been keeping an eye on her," Gabriel volunteered. He was slouched against the wall, his arms crossed, watching the family reunion. I'd been too focused on Jesse to notice him earlier. No scrapes or cuts on him, either. Good. "She's not showing any signs of concussion," he continued. "No confusion, dizziness, memory loss…" he shrugged himself off the wall and came to stand beside her. "She's tough," he acknowledged, grinning proudly at her. "I'll keep watching, but I think she's fine."

"What about you? Any damage?"

He pushed his bottom lip out and shook his head. "Barely a scratch. You did a great job keeping him off us," he added with enthusiasm. "I couldn't believe you were so fast."

"Mercy's awesome," Jesse agreed, grabbling Gabriel's arm and drawing it across her shoulders. She snuggled into his side and turned radiant eyes to his face. "But so were you."

There was the tiniest trace of a swagger in his voice as he replied. "I didn't do anything worth noticing."

Jesse squeezed his hand, admiration for her handsome Latin hero all over her face, and I made a mental note to remind Gabriel (and Jesse) one more time about the rules for dating the alpha's daughter. I didn't want to have to bury an assistant, and I really didn't want to have to go back to doing my own paperwork.

"I'm glad everyone made it through with such flying colors," Adam commented wryly. "Why don't you have Mary Jo look you over when she gets back, just in case." He looked amused rather than irritated, even though the sight of a teenage boy draped over his daughter had to be rough on his already strained control. He was starting to really like Gabriel. Still, best not to push our luck today. Darryl, his sculpted face haggard with the strain of buffering the pack from Adam's rage during the emergency, lurked just on the perimeter of the discussion, providing a good distraction.

"Hey Darryl," I greeted him casually, and he gave me a smile I read as approval of my continued existence. Like the rest of the pack, Darryl has historically disliked me, but he was starting to come around. "How are things here?"

"Improving," he responded tersely. He turned to Adam as I shooed Jesse and Gabriel away with my eyes. "That was Gena Ellison." It wasn't a question. Adam nodded confirmation anyway. "What is she doing here?" His tone was angry, almost suspicious, as though he suspected her of being an infiltrating assassin. Or Adam of kidnapping and torturing her. I would have found the idea of Adam abducting a harem for sadistic pleasures more laughably ridiculous if I didn't know of more than a few alphas that would operate that way, if Bran would let them.

Adam ignored the tone and answered the question. "That is one of several things I'd very much like to know. Is Warren on his way?"

It was Darryl's turn to nod, stiffening as he did so. Darryl didn't care much for Warren.

"Good," Adam responded briskly. "In that case, I'd like you to manage the investigation of the attack. I want to know who that—" Adam paused a second, reassessing his word choice. He was raised in the fifties, and still has strong ideas about swearing in front of women. That 'damn' he'd let slip earlier was a powerful sign of distress. "—who that _invader_ is, and if there is anyone else with him. I also want to know if the Los Alamos pack let her end up here alone, or if we have some of them wandering my territory, too. Leave me Warren, Paul, Honey, Aureille, Ben, and Peter." The first four wolves he mentioned were the most dominant members of the pack outside the three of us; they should be strong enough to help keep Gena in line once she was recovered enough to make trouble. Ben and Peter, both more submissive, had become favored house guards. Adam was going to be aggressive about security for a little while.

"Leave it to me." The tall man whipped out his phone, dialing as he turned and stalked toward the door.

"Darryl?" Adam called after him. "I'll keep you informed."

I would have expected that order to flow the other way, not that Darryl needed a reminder to report to his alpha. Darryl nodded curtly, without turning around, and shut the door behind him with slightly exaggerated gentleness.

"Friend of Gena's?" I guessed as Adam towed me toward the stairs.

"Not particularly close, but yes. A lot of the pack knew her in Los Alamos. They'll be upset when they find out. On top of being upset about Jesse. And you."

I didn't think the pack was going to be too broken up that I almost got eaten. I could see several of them being disappointed that I hadn't managed it, though.

"I thought you brought your whole pack with you when you moved to the Tri-cities. How did she get left behind?"

Adam shook his head. "We didn't bring everyone. Some people couldn't move when we needed to. Gena was in school, some of the wolves had families they didn't want to expose to the rogues… I took just over half the pack. Jonah, my second in Los Alamos, became the new alpha for the others."

"Will he know what she was doing up here, apparently alone?"

"He died last year." His tone did not invite further questions. I let it drop.

When we were safely alone in Adam's… _our_ bedroom, I decided the time was right to confront my husband with my newfound insight.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew another walker?"

Adam sighed and sat on the bed. He ran a hand over his face before he answered me. "I don't, not really. In every way that matters, Gena is a werewolf. She knows even less about her walker heritage than you do."

I found that very difficult to believe, despite the truth in Adam's voice. Most of what I knew about my abilities had been won through trial and error; even if she had learned about herself the exact same way, the laws of probability should ensure we'd have something to teach each other. My skepticism must have shown, because my mate suddenly felt the need to keep talking.

"Mercy, I swear, there is nothing she could tell you, although you're welcome to discuss it with her when she wakes up. It didn't surface in her until after she Changed. As far as I know she's never heard the term 'walker'. Bran discussed it with me because I was her alpha, but he asked me not to mention it to her. As far as I know no one ever has."

"Wolves don't come in adjustable sizes. What does she think her other form is?"

He shrugged. "An unusual circumstance. That view has been… encouraged."

Of course. As long as the men knew what was going on, why should they bother informing her? Half of the rebellious streak I was so famous for was necessary retaliation for that kind of high handed, dictatorial attitude. Werewolves had never left the dark ages in terms of civil liberties or women's rights. It was exactly the sort of thing I expected from Bran, but I was surprised Adam had been willing to go along with it. Of course, he wouldn't have had much choice if that was the way Bran said things should be. The Marrok's commands were not negotiable.

"Mercy," Adam's voice, tired and very careful, cut across my fury. "Can we talk about this later? I know it's important, but I have quite a number of important things to do right now. It's going to be a little while before I can give you my undivided attention." He added in an undertone that would have hidden his words if I were human, "And I don't want to fight with you yet."

It was the last bit that got me. Normally Adam enjoys a woman growling at him a little; wolves respect attitude, and not many people have the guts (or the stupidity) to stand up to my husband. But it bothers him when I'm truly angry at him. His ex-wife, Christy, gave him enough furious-and-resentful-spouse to last the rest of his very long lifetime. That doesn't mean I have to forgive him right away when he's being an idiot, but I do try to be as understanding as I can. Adam's not a bad guy; he's a very good man, and not normally given to stupidity. And we'd both had a hell of a day already.

"Alright," I conceded, dropping down beside him on the bed. "But next week you are going to be in serious trouble."

He cracked half a smile at that, and it dislodged his carefully composed facial expression just enough for me to see the guilt and worry churning under the surface. I didn't need to see it—I could feel it, reverberating through our mate-bond, tying my own stomach in knots. I took his arm with one hand, laying my cheek against his shoulder, and let my other hand trail softly up and down his back. His muscles were like marble under my fingers. "In the future," I advised him gravely, "you should consider running all your decisions by me. It would spare you this sort of embarrassing blunder."

His sensitive lips quirked upward again as he fought the smile. "I have phone calls to make," he informed me dryly. "With your permission--?"

"By all means," I allowed graciously, releasing his arm and folding myself into a more relaxed pose on the bed. He rolled his eyes at me, but his shoulders relaxed a little. I smiled.

He called his old pack member even before the Marrock; my hearing is well above average, even in human form, so I could easily follow both sides of the conversation. Scott answered the phone with Adam's name, in a surprised but respectful tone that told me that the two didn't talk often but got along well. Adam didn't waste any time on pleasantries—succinctly and in the calm, brisk voice he uses for very bad news he let his former subordinate know that Gena was in Washington and that she had been attacked. This communication was greeted with a short, flat silence.

"How bad is it?" Scott asked. His voice was somber, strained; I swear I could hear his heartbeat over the phone.

"About like the first time," my husband answered cryptically.

It must have meant more to Scott than it did to me, because he launched into a full two minutes of invective that would put any longshoreman to shame. The rant stopped abruptly and absolutely in mid-word, and Adam waited through the quiet that followed as patiently and as wordlessly as he had through the bitter curses before.

"I'm on my way," Scott choked, and then the dial tone was the only sound. Adam sighed, took the phone from his ear, and punched up Bran.

His account to the Marrok was considerably more detailed, and correspondingly more emotionally charged; Adam's voice was steady, but he stalked and I had the firm conviction that the furniture and phone were in danger. I sat quietly and did my best to radiate calm while my husband paced.

"You do have a gift for trouble, girl," Bran declared, once he had been suitably reassured that I was more or less healthy. I protested, vigorously; it's not like I did anything to attract a pair of wandering wolves. When I told him that, Bran just said, "That doesn't make it any better."

"If anything, it makes it worse," Adam agreed. I growled and stuck my tongue out at him. His eyes darkened a few more shades towards their human brown.

For once Bran didn't seem to be ten steps ahead of the game; he hadn't heard of any trouble in New Mexico that would have brought Gena 1200 miles north. "Are you sure she walked?"

Adam fielded that one to me. Werewolves have a very good sense of smell, but mine is better. I recalled Gena's scent. "I think so. Even in wolf form a werewolf will smell like people – soap and cooked food and perfumes and such. It takes a while for those smells to wear off. She didn't have any of them. It was all wild. I'd say she hasn't been in a human habitation or vehicle for at least two weeks."

Given that information, Bran thought our dead black wolf was most likely a lone wolf by the name of Luke Doyen. If I'd had any lingering guilt over his death, Bran's conviction that he was exactly the sort to find a wounded and weak female passing through his territory irresistible prey would have removed it. He must have been following Gena for several days before he came across my car and decided to have a snack.

"I'm going to keep the pack on defensive patrol until we have all the details sorted out," Adam insisted, although Bran didn't sound like he was objecting. My mate paused. He looked at me appraisingly and frowned. "Excuse me a moment, Bran," he murmured, and brought the phone away from his face. It wouldn't keep Bran from hearing, but it was polite. "Mercy, would you mind going to check on Jesse? I'm worried about her still."

It was true, but it wasn't the reason he was sending me out. They'd reached the stage of the conversation where Bran and Adam would decide what to do to protect the weak and vulnerable members of the pack. In both of their minds, that group included me. Adam was worried that I was going to make trouble.

"I'm not going to become a prisoner over this," I told him firmly, keeping my eyes low but letting the lines of my legs and back convey the full extent of my determination. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"I'm not going to put you under house arrest while you're gone."

I wondered if he'd have to revise that statement if he knew that, as far as magical creatures were concerned, my shop was part of my house. "Then there's no reason I can't be here while you finish your conversation."

"Mercy, you are not by nature inclined to obedience." Well, that much was definitely true. "You will feel compelled to object to anything I arrange for your protection, on principle. And then I will worry for your safety." His eyes, which had been almost back to their normal dark brown, blazed back to a burnished gold. It was breathtakingly beautiful and terrifying at once.

I said a quick and fervent prayer of gratitude that Mary Jo had been nearby; if Jesse or I had died today, we might have taken every werewolf in the world with us. If Adam lost control, his pack would as well, and 30 rampaging werewolves were not the sort of thing the general public would forget or forgive.

Of course, Samuel might have been able to kill Adam in time and wrest control of the pack before the Tri-cities were slaughtered. It might be selfish, but I didn't like that scenario much better.

"Fine, line up the babysitters. But next week we are going to have words."

I left, grumbling about tyrannical dictatorships as I closed the door and wondering why, if I was the one who almost died, Adam was the one getting the special treatment. I was so busy complaining I almost ran into Warren, lounging a few feet down the hall, awaiting his alpha's summons. He seemed tired, but looked better overall than Darryl had, despite his much scruffier clothing,

"Go easy on 'em, hey?" he urged mildly, wrapping me in a quick hello hug. "They love you." He pulled me back to arm's length and looked me up and down, to make sure I was still in one piece. "You gave us all a bad scare today. It'll take a little time to settle down. The pack wants to take care of its own; we'll all feel better if you play along and let us. Even Paul." The last bit was a jibe, but true nonetheless. Paul, who hated me for being a coyote in the wolf pack even more than he hated Warren for being different, might want to kill me himself, might be happier with me dead. But anything that attacked the pack was lower on his favorites list than me. Deep down he wanted to protect me, at least a little. Warren was right, the thought made me smile.

"So who's the new kid?" Warren asked, and I realized no one had told him the story.

I take issue with a lot of the archaic traditions that constitute the werewolf social code, but I will admit that some of them serve a useful purpose. All the dominance games and strict hierarchies prevented dominance fights, and that meant they saved lives. But there was absolutely no purpose in the bigoted, hateful prejudice that kept Warren on the outside despite his high position in the pack. Warren was Adam's third, and by rights should be the second. He was strong enough, more dominant than Darryl. But Darryl wasn't gay, and Warren was. Most wolves would kill him for that; it was a testament to Warren's skill as a fighter that he'd lived long enough to make it into Adam's pack. Adam was willing to let him in, but he couldn't change the attitudes of the pack members. So Warren was pushed to the side as far as possible, all of his unfailing loyalty met with hostility and neglect. It burned me up.

My stewing was interrupted by Warren himself, reaching out to brush a hand over my shoulder and down my arm. The touch strengthened my connection to the pack bonds, the magical ties that joined every member of Adam's werewolf family whether they wanted to be joined or not. Of course, the wolves all wanted to. The sacrifice of privacy was subordinate to their instinctive need for companionship. I would rather have had fewer people inside my head, but it was too late for that. I could feel my own anger over the treatment Warren had to endure surging through the already roiling emotions of the pack, stirring and enflaming every wolf they touched. As the alpha's mate, I could make my feelings known quite forcefully if I wanted to.

I wondered if everyone had felt my terror as clearly.

"Go easy on us," Warren repeated, his voice still calm. I couldn't tell if the anger in his eyes was his or mine. "Our visitor?"

It's a bad sign when a werewolf is the one demonstrating temperance. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the carpet, closing my eyes and clamping down on my connections to the pack until I had only the vaguest sense of the wolves. When I was sure my emotions belonged only to me, I opened my eyes again. Warren's wiry frame was stretched out on the floor beside me. I grinned at him and began my story.

He was a very attentive audience, the rhythm of his breath and the cant of his lips and eyebrows providing running feedback without ever interrupting. He was properly impressed at my fighting prowess, and oohed over my battle scars without getting antsy. He even shared my enthusiasm over finally meeting another walker. By the time I finished my tale I felt much better.

"So this means I'm probably back on bodyguard duty, doesn't it?" he asked. He didn't look disappointed at the prospect. Warren draws that job a lot, as the only male in the pack guaranteed not to lay a finger on the alphas's wife or daughter. It's an arrangement that suits everyone.

"Looks like it," I agreed. "After this, it'll be a miracle if I'm allowed to be out unchaperoned between now and Easter."

"Try Labor Day," Adam advised from the other side of the door. I wondered how long he'd been listening, and if my detailed account of the fight had extended Warren's duty schedule. Too late now. "Warren, would you come in here, please?"

I left Warren to receive his assignment and went downstairs, still muttering to myself but happier. Jesse was asleep on the couch in the living room, her bare feet snuggled against Mary Jo's winter coat and Gabriel's arm across her. I left her undisturbed and went to the kitchen. The fight had taken a lot out of me; I was in need of sustenance. I grabbed an apple from the fridge and turned to find Gabriel watching me from the kitchen door. Right. Time to face the music.

"Jesse told me on the way home," he said quietly, stepping all the way into the room. I was glad he'd been brought up to date; it would save me some time, and Jesse would tell it right.

"Good. Any questions?"

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he demanded petulantly.

I couldn't help it: I laughed. Pouting hadn't even made the list of potential reactions I'd been bracing myself for. He raised exasperated eyebrows and crossed his arms.

"I mean it! I worry about you. You work for vampires, you had that trouble with the Fae, you were asking about ghosts… it's been one thing after another. I know you can take care of yourself most of the time, but I'd have felt better knowing you had some extra tricks up your sleeve. Of course," he added contemplatively, "we figured you had to have something. To survive all the things that happen around you… Tony thought that maybe—"

"You and Tony have been talking about me?" I interrupted. This was not surprising so much as it was annoying. The last thing I needed was more men getting all overprotective on me, although I had to admit it was kinda cute on Gabriel.

"We're your friends, Mercy." The look on his face could have been stolen from Adam, and Gabriel pulled it off disturbingly well. I almost felt chastened. "We're always going to try to help you, whether you want it or not." The glower lightened. "Hey, that's why you can always pick Tony out, isn't it? By smell. I'd love to see his face when he finds _that_ out."

"You can't tell him! It's not safe for people to know that sort of thing." Tony was an undercover cop; he faced enough danger without adding my enemies list to his. The less he knew about me and my world, the safer he would be. I wondered regretfully if it might not be time for Gabriel to find a new part-time job.

"I won't tell him. But we're not dumb. He's going to figure it out eventually. You should try trusting your friends a little more. You expect us all to trust you."

My snappy retort died in my mouth. He was right. Not so right that I was going to run to the station and confess to Tony, but right enough that I would at least not argue with him. Or lay him off. Not yet.

"So you don't mind that your boss isn't the mild-mannered average citizen she seems to be?"

He choked on a laugh. "Yeah, mild-mannered, that's you all over."

I didn't bother defending myself. "You're sure?"

He skewered me with his dark eyes. "Vampires, Fae, werewolves…. Whatever else you might be, you were never average. Plus, my girlfriend's dad is a werewolf. It's not like I have a lot of room to complain."

"Alright then."

He nodded. "Alright." He went back to sit by Jesse, and I finally bit into my apple, contemplating ways to carry on with my life despite the unwelcome surveillance that was coming. You don't cage a coyote.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or elected to follow this story. It makes my day! It also makes it much easier to keep writing. Please continue to let me know what you think!

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Werewolf metabolism is a formidable thing; a peckish wolf can eat a pair of lumberjacks under the table without trying and without needing to loosen his belt afterward. That was fortunate for Ben, since the two hot-out-of-the-oven cookies he was stuffing in his mouth were, by my count, fourteen and fifteen for the night. And then there were the brownies.

"Please tell me you're getting ready to hibernate," I taunted as I eased a final cookie from the sheet. "This was going to be my last dozen for tonight, but with that kind of motivation I could churn out a few more."

"You're starting an effing bakery in here, what do you care?" he snapped, licking melted chocolate from his fingers.

I resisted the urge to snap back at him, barely. I wasn't really angry with Ben. I was angry with Adam, or rather, with the hot steel knot in my belly where Adam should be. He'd closed himself off tighter than Fort Knox in an effort to contain the frustration rising in him as his investigation turned up more and more nothing. It was largely working; none of the wolves that had come through Adam's… _our_ sparkling clean kitchen had been irritable enough to ignore a fresh cookie. It was my sore shoulder and my worry for Adam putting me so on edge; I'd lived over 30 years without being able to sense another person's thoughts and emotions in my head, so it couldn't be that Adam's self-imposed isolation was doing it. Definitely not.

I put the pan in the dishwasher and surveyed the kitchen. Despite Ben's best efforts, a couple dozen cookies remained; the brownies had all vanished within two hours. Cupcakes. If I still couldn't sleep after this I'd make cupcakes.

Adam had been immersed in an almost constant stream of meetings and visitors since he'd called Bran. He'd confirmed the identity of the lone wolf who'd stalked his former pack member across state lines and determined definitively that she came alone, but we still had no idea why, and no one in Los Alamos seemed to be picking up a phone. Our computer guys were doing what they could, but our best source of information was still unconscious in the basement. Gabriel had gone home, Jesse was asleep under Warren's guard, Adam was closeted with whichever of his wolves had just shown up to check in, and I was left on my own with pine-sol and five pounds of flour as therapy for my near-death experience. I should be with my husband, celebrating life, tonight-- not stress baking to pacify a pack of cranky wolves… It had been twelve hours since we got back, and Samuel had yet to show his face upstairs. Grimly I opened the fridge and set about preparing a plate.

Adam's house has a multitude of spare bedrooms; Gena had been placed in one downstairs, adjoining the safe room. I found Samuel hunched in a chair in the darkened room, staring at his unconscious patient, what little could be seen of her. He'd sent Honey out to a medical supply store a few hours back, so now in addition to stitches, splint, bandages, and blankets Gena had an IV, a feeding tube, and a nasal canula for oxygen-- not things a werewolf should need. Judging from the grim set of Samuel's mouth, they weren't helping much, either.

"I brought you food," I said, handing him the plate. He took it from me without moving his gaze. Samuel was a very patient hunter, even when he was stalking something intangible, like death. It was one of the things that made him a great doctor: his mind never wandered, he never missed a detail. It was likely he wouldn't move from his chair until Gena was dead or in the clear. That left it up to me to take care of him. A hungry werewolf and blood were never a good mix, no matter how impeccable Samuel's control.

"Thanks," he grunted. I set the silverware on the end table beside him.

"How is she doing?"

"Not well," Samuel growled softly. "Something is wrong. I expected she would take longer than usual to heal, since she was nearly starved to death. But I also expected her wolf to be hard to control, for the same reason. Adam said she's pretty dominant. But she hasn't stirred, and she's not healing at all. It's like the wolf isn't even there. Mercy, I don't know if she can make it this way."

I settled on the floor next to him, resting my head against his knee. Hopefully my presence would calm him a little. Samuel was a healer; he wanted to be able to fix everyone. He never took it well when there was someone he couldn't save. It didn't help any that this really shouldn't have been one of those times. Adam had been hurt like this and within two days he'd been up and moving around. Not without help, but still, werewolves are tough, and Gena was no exception. After all, she had made it this far. Whatever happened to her before she appeared out of nowhere to save our bacon had left serious marks.

Of course, sometimes those kinds of things left marks on the inside, too. I was discovering lately how dangerous those inside marks could be. Samuel, for example, was an old wolf; I'd never been able to determine exactly how old, but I did know that he predated Lewis and Clark. I hadn't realized that when I had nearly run away with him when I was 16. Samuel had a computer, drove a car, liked people… old wolves generally aren't good with change or social settings. Samuel had an affectionate, easy going nature that had been able to handle it all.

But there was a brittleness under all that cheer, a brittleness I hadn't noticed, born of too much death. Bran had told me only last year that Samuel was older than I thought, that in the course of his long life he had lost three wives and 27 children. Only 8 of those kids ever made it as far as age three, and only one lived to adulthood. It was the wolf that made it so hard to have a child, and Samuel gave himself all the blame. That was why he had wanted to run away with me: he thought we had a good chance at healthy children. Wolves and coyotes can interbreed, and my change is gentle and voluntary, unlike a werewolf's. Gentle enough not to force a miscarriage. I hadn't reacted well when Bran had disclosed his son's motivations, and that had been the end of Samuel and I as a couple. We had grown close again, though, as roommates, pack mates, and friends.

And I was worried for him. In the time between our short lived romance and our reconnection, some brittle bit inside him had broken. Lately he had been struggling to keep control, angry with himself and the world. Werewolves aren't immortal, they just don't age. Time can still rob them in other ways. I wondered, if it were him lying in that bed, if he would still have enough will left to live. I wondered what might have happened to Gena to sap hers.

"How old is she, do you know?"

"Twenty five," said someone right outside the door. "Twenty six in July, if she makes it that long. I know, amazing, isn't it? She doesn't look a day over thirty." The newcomer lounged briefly in the doorway, a sardonic smile strangely at odds with his boyish features. I didn't recognize his face or his smell, but I'd heard his voice recently. On the phone, I realized; the voice was hard to place without the profanity. I stood to greet Scott as he continued. "You must be Samuel and Mercy. I would introduce myself, but I'm sure Adam has already warned you about me." He pushed off the doorframe with his shoulder and strode firmly but quietly over to the bed. The sarcasm melted away for a moment as he leaned over and kissed Gena's forehead. "Don't worry, Cherie," he whispered, "when I get to him I will take his liver out through his nose, slowly, and then I will hunt down every living person who laid a finger on you and do the same." His cheerful, matter-of-fact tone made his promise more than a little creepy; he would do it, and he would enjoy it, I had no doubt.

"So you must be Scott," I observed carefully, stretching my hand out. He took it and shook, then exchanged a quick handshake with Samuel as well. I settled myself in the chair beside Sam's as Scott took one on the far side of the bed. "We've been expecting you. Nice to meet you."

"And here I thought my reputation had preceded me. Adam must be getting soft in his old age. Well, you'll learn the error of your ways soon enough. In the meantime, I'm _extra_ pleased to meet_ you_." He cast an exaggerated glance at Samuel and stage whispered, "We'll have to get better acquainted later." He _winked_ at me.

If Samuel and I had been seeing each other, there would probably have been blood. As it was, I was glad Adam wasn't around. Of course, a fight might be just what Scott was after, I thought as I watched him lean his chair against the wall and prop his feet up on the bed. His manner might be flippant and devil-may-care, but I could smell the frustration and the rage simmering just under that thin veneer. A full human would never know, but not much escapes my nose. When Scott reached over and took Gena's hand, covertly, like he didn't want to draw attention to the action, I felt Samuel decide to let the comment go.

All werewolves look permanently young and athletic, but Scott went above and beyond. I would have put him between 17 and 20, maybe a couple years older but not many. I couldn't pinpoint the features responsible for the juvenile impression -- was it the soulful brown eyes, the full cheeks, the sensitive mouth? Whatever the cause, he would have looked young at 70 even without the wolf. His clothes were good quality but casual and his short brown hair was sculpted to artful disarray, both hair and clothes in styles favored by men in their late teens or early twenties. If I didn't know he'd been with Adam at Los Alamos, I might have taken him for a very young wolf indeed. His time in Adam's pack meant his wolf was at least 10, which was the average life span for a werewolf after the change. Violent tempers and territorial instincts aren't compatible with long life. I'd noticed that werewolves (and people) around Adam and/or Bran tended to live longer than average. Well, people other than me. I'd nearly died several times in both Bran's pack and Adam's, but that wasn't my fault, or theirs. It seemed I was only safe when I kept to myself, and despite my best efforts I wasn't going to be allowed to do that.

Scott ran his free hand through his stylishly disheveled hair and sighed, enhancing the careworn, tense aura that was the only visual clue to the fear for his friend that was rapidly pushing him toward stupidity. He needed to calm down, before he ran into someone less in control than Samuel. Time to exercise my werewolf therapy skills and talk him down a little. Someone really should give me a degree for putting up with this. Now that the wolves were coming out of hiding, it was possible that someday someone actually might.

But what to say? _So, who do you plan on killing for vengeance_? I was certainly curious, but it was not a topic likely to calm him down. Werewolves don't like to talk about the past much, but maybe I could get him to talk about the present.

"So how was your flight? Adam mentioned you were coming but he didn't say where from."

"I flew into Seattle from Dallas, where I flew from Knoxville. The next connecting flight didn't leave for 8 hours, and I figured I could drive here faster than that."

I winced in sympathy. Wolves don't handle crowds or confinement well. It was a good thing he hadn't been pulled over on the drive here; I'd bet my right arm both that he had been speeding dramatically and that there would have been violence if anyone stopped him. "That's quite the trip."

"Yeah." He stroked his thumb across the back of Gena's hand.

"How long have you known each other?" Samuel asked quietly.

"Oh, Gena and I go way back," Scott's voice tried to resume its cynically sunny tone, but couldn't hold it and dropped instead to almost a whisper. "Twenty one years in May."

"So you knew her before she Changed," I determined, surprised. No wonder Adam had felt compelled to call him.

"She's always been something special, our little Gigi." He spoke with obvious affection. A relative, maybe? Definitely a close friend of her family, to have known her since she was four. It was at best disconcerting to know someone on both sides of the change. Involuntarily I flashed back to Dr. Wallace, one of the few people I had known pre and post. I'd known him my whole life, and I hadn't recognized him the first time I saw him after he became a wolf. I flinched away from that train of thought quickly, though; it hadn't worked out well for him.

"Tell me about her," Samuel suggested casually. He'd finished bolting the food I'd brought and had slouched down in a deceptively relaxed pose-- I could feel the readiness waiting in his long limbs and see the watchfulness in his open expression despite the calm facade. Samuel was prepared in the event that this topic of conversation didn't prove a soothing one. Prepared to do what, I wasn't sure. Scott eyed him, perhaps catching the bit of snake-charmer in Samuel's voice and growing suspicious. After a minute, though, he threw a long look at Gena lying motionless on the bed and his face softened again. Still, he didn't say anything.

"Everyone she's met seems to like her," I offered cheerily. _All four of you._ I choked back the qualifier; now was not the time to indulge my crankiness.

"She's an easy person to like," he responded, releasing her hand and stroking her hair instead. "Friendly, generous, obnoxiously cheerful. She's brilliant – wants to be a child psychologist." He chuckled. "She's funny, too. Not so much cracking jokes, but she sees the humor in everything. Can make you see it, too, whether you wanted to or not. She spoilt a lot of my best bad moods that way," he confessed with a rueful laugh. He fell silent again, still stroking her dark hair.

There was no question that the emotion pouring off him was love. He sounded for all the world like she was his child.

"She saved three lives today," I told him, although he must already know. "One of them was mine."

"Tell her that, when she wakes up. It'll make her happy. She likes people." His tone implied that he didn't share her eccentricity on that point, but found it endearing in her. "Her dad told me once that her first word was 'hi'. I guess she hasn't stopped saying it since."

I smiled. "I look forward to hearing her say it to me," I said sincerely, and was rewarded with a quick, warm grin that was startlingly charming.

"Was her father one of Adam's wolves?" Samuel asked, covering my unflattering surprise that Scott could be genuine.

"No. She lost her family young."

I was beginning to get a picture of Gena's life. Orphaned young meant she would have grown up with a foster family, with foster parents who had probably been in Adam's pack. That would explain why Adam and Scott had known her as a child. It was reasonably common for children raised around wolves to seek the Change; Bran's pack had one day in October set aside to let people in their territory try. It was a bitter-sweet event. Those who make it receive tremendous physical gifts: health, strength, permanent youth, long life. But most people don't make it. Most people die.

Gena had lived; I wondered if her latent walker blood had helped with that. Is it easier to become a wolf if you're already halfway there? I doubted anyone alive could tell me. Maybe not anyone dead, either; it couldn't have come up much. However it had happened, she lived and went on to be… a child psychologist? I wasn't sure child psychology was a good career for a wolf; mixing a dominant werewolf's protective instincts and inclination for violence with children who had been mistreated seemed like a recipe for disaster to me. Not that I would be particularly heartbroken over the death of a child abuser, but vigilante violence on humans was something the Marrock discouraged. It would be even worse with less dominant, less well trained wolves. To them, the injured and weak were prey.

"Do you know why she picked child psychology?"

Scott shook his head. "She loves kids, and they love her back. You should see it, it's something else. She plays space dinosaurs or unicorn princess like she was on the hunt. The little brats eat it up. She was a nanny for a couple years."

His words flashed me back to my childhood, remembering the intoxicating draw of an adult who had relish and intensity in play. Samuel as a man was a being to be respected and deferred to, but when Samuel's white wolf showed up at the park or the schoolyard, it heralded hours of pleasure, for us and for him. He was a devoted playmate, no matter how silly or trivial the game, and with a wolf to watch over us we were always safe.

"She says kids have it rough," Adam informed us as he came down the hall. Werewolf hearing allows for widespread conversations. "They don't have much say in their own lives, always being scheduled and ordered around, and they have a hard time expressing themselves. She wanted to help the ones who had it particularly bad." He wandered through the door and over to me, handing me the steaming mug of cocoa he carried. I inhaled the aroma appreciatively and Adam smiled. The lump in my stomach that was Adam's bottled emotions had loosened slightly; I relaxed along with it.

"You're running low on flour," I informed him as he bent to kiss me.

Adam chuckled with his face pressed to mine; the warm, rich, rumbly sound resonated deliciously along my bones. "I noticed. My wolves are going to get fat."

"Ben's certainly trying." I settled smugly back in my chair, finally able to enjoy the implied compliment of having my food so ravenously devoured now that I wasn't so worried about Adam. Scott and Samuel were both staring at us, although with vastly different expressions. Time to get the conversation back on track. What were we talking about? Right, careers.

I sipped at my cocoa, savoring the warmth that slid from my mouth down into my belly. "What is it that _you_ do?" I asked Scott.

He shrugged. "Physics," he said, sounding bored. "Nuclear physics. I work at the government labs at Oak Ridge. What," he asked, noting my gape of astonishment, "werewolves can't have PhDs?"

This was not a good night for my grace. Nuclear physics, he said, in the tone I would have expected for 'tire salesman' or 'actuary'. I bet his coworkers were more than a little bemused at a PhD who looked like he should be in high school. He was certainly not the only educated wolf I knew, but the others had a bearing that Scott entirely lacked. Well, entirely lacked in the ten minutes we had been acquainted. Maybe he wasn't having a good night either.

Adam rubbed my shoulders gently while he and Samuel asked polite questions about Tennessee. I listened silently, the cocoa mug cradled beneath my chin so that every breath was thick with the delightful smell. I suppressed a yawn. The warm milk was making me sleepy… Too late, I realized the trap I had fallen into. I glared at Adam accusingly, but he didn't seem to notice. I should have been more alert. It was part of our agreement when I officially became Adam's mate that he would avoid ordering me around. I detest the demure obedience required of females in the pack, almost as much as I detest the part of me that wants to roll over and agree to anything Adam says. He's been really good about sticking to his part of the bargain, but he's been getting more and more adept at getting me to do what he thinks best without issuing any orders.

I stifled another yawn. Oh, well. Sleep now wouldn't hurt me any. I'd actually been hoping for it, earlier.

"I'm sorry, but it's been a very long day and I'm going to have to get some sleep now," I excused myself as I stood. "I'm sure we'll have the opportunity to talk more tomorrow."

Scott gave me half a nod; he didn't seem broken up at my imminent departure. Adam wisely refrained from comment, but the kiss he gave me was very communicative. "See you in the morning," he whispered as he released me. I smiled at the promise in his voice. Tomorrow was for me.

As I walked out the door, Adam set a hand on Samuel's shoulder. "You might think about following her good example," he suggested. "We can keep an eye on your patient for a few hours."

Samuel was reluctant, but without a compelling reason to stay he retreated with me to the basement sitting room. I decided to stretch out on the couch for the night; I was tired enough that I wouldn't miss the extra comfort of my bed, and with the kind of day I'd had I didn't really feel like being alone. Samuel turned off the light and dropped into the reclining chair, at hand if he were needed. In the other room, Scott was softly singing to Gena. I drifted off to his half-whispered baritone.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone! Here's the next installment; enjoy!

* * *

I woke, heart pounding, to the sounds of something falling and Scott calling softly. I blinked against the light from the guest room, low though it was, and rolled off the couch. Samuel's chair was empty. Scott called for Adam and Samuel again, slightly louder although still not loud enough to wake the house. He was trying to keep his tone even and low, but there was an underlying note of urgency or possibly desperation that was responsible for the adrenaline currently allowing my body to be upright. I stumbled past the safe room to the guest room door. The cause of his consternation was immediately evident: Gena was awake, and she was not happy.

Scott stood in front of me, back to the wall. It was the spot in the room farthest from the bed, the only place that might be considered reasonably safe. Gena was in her timber wolf form, thrashing to rid herself of the feeding tube. The IV was already out and most of the bedding was on the floor. I was relieved to see that her hind legs didn't want to support her; that would make it a lot harder for her to cause serious mischief to others before we got her under control. She was not doing her shredded body any favors, though. There was fresh blood on the blankets.

Scott didn't take his eyes off her as I slid up beside him. Gena had caught him with a claw; his shirt was torn open on one side, and blood dripped from a row of shallow cuts on his shoulder across a very discrete but interesting tattoo and down his back to stain his jeans. Dramatic, but not dangerous; he was already healing, pink skin visibly closing in the edges of the wounds. "Can you calm her down?" The tension in his voice was also vibrating through his muscles. He was worried, and afraid.

"I'm not sure," I answered quietly. "She doesn't know me yet. It would be better if you could."

He shook his head. "She's been able to back me down since she was ten." Yet again I stared at him in astonishment, but he wasn't paying me any attention. "Damn!" he snarled. "Where are those two?"

I'd been trapped in a room with an out of control werewolf before; recently at that. Adam had done his alpha magic and calmed the sweet, bewildered run-away before he could destroy himself by eating me. My heart ached at the memory, as it still did whenever I thought about Mac.

If I knew her full name, I might be able to borrow Adam's power and do what he had done that night. "Do you know her middle name?"

"It's Ruth. Her birth name is Geneva Ruth Eliason. Use that."

Birth name? Why did she have a 'birth name'? I had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that information was still being kept from me. There would be a price for that.

Act now, ask questions later, I reflected as Gena's scrambling paws tore parallel gouges in the wall behind the bed. I took a deep breath and drew on the connection to Adam that nestled inside me. I felt his strength pour into me at the same time I heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs.

"Geneva, Geneva Ruth Eliason," I told her firmly but calmly, infusing my words with borrowed Alpha power, "stop that and lie still." She did, one golden eye focused resentfully on me. I held her gaze as Adam and Samuel slid behind me and came up on either side of the bed. "Samuel will get the tube out for you," I told her. "Let him."

Samuel's deft fingers began doing something to the tubing, breaking my line of sight connection to Gena. I sighed and let myself relax as Adam began whispering soothing things in her ear. The unnaturally full, prickly sensation of his borrowed power flowed out of me with the breath. Adam gathered it back in and used it to send the exhausted and frightened Gena back to sleep, hopefully for several hours.

"Sorry," Samuel muttered, "we were upstairs getting a snack and settling some business."

"No harm done," I replied with more confidence than I felt. "Not to me, anyway." _Action accomplished. Now it's time for questions. _I turned to Scott. "Ten?" I asked him skeptically.

He looked confused, then nervous, fidgeting and glancing at Adam. It was Adam who answered me.

"She was not quite five."

"She was not quite five when what?" I asked. It was impossible that I had understood him correctly.

"When she was Changed."

Okay then. I guess I understood after all. I waited, letting Adam's impossible assertion hang in the air. Children don't survive the change. The youngest person I'd ever heard of was a twelve year old girl, and even that had been bordering on a miracle. Someone needed to come up with an explanation.

Adam looked suddenly tired, as though he hadn't slept in the last year or so. He didn't look up as he started his story. "One of my wolves suspected that his mate was cheating on him. He was correct. He found her… well, he found her, and he lost all control. We arrived too late to stop him. The blood… I suppose you can imagine." I could. I had seen Adam rip Tim into tiny bits in my garage, and I had seen the aftermath of a vampire sorcerer's slaughter. It wasn't Adam's work that gave me nightmares, but that's not because a werewolf can't be as brutal as a vampire. Who is stupid enough to cuckold a werewolf?

"He'd already left when we got there," Adam continued. "I followed immediately; I couldn't have been more than five minutes behind him, but it was five minutes too much. There was a park a little way into the forest, beside the hotel where he found his wife and her lover. There was a meteor shower that night, and the temperature was quite clement. Gena's parents had brought her out to see the shooting stars."

It was only too easy to see where the story was driving. I shivered. "What did you do?"

"Panicked," Adam replied shortly. "One of the very few times in my life I've done so. I had a dead wolf that I had just killed, a mutilated four-year old, a growing mob heading into the woods after us, a hotel room that looked like the set for the climax of a slasher film… I remember hearing her mother's voice, screaming for her child, and thinking 'she can't see this; I can't let her see this'. We took both bodies and ran. Blind panic."

Adam brushed his fingers through Gena's cinnamon fur. "I wanted to give her back, later, when we'd figured out she would survive, but by then it was too late. There was no way to do it. She wouldn't have been safe, we wouldn't have been safe. So we kept her. Her parents moved back to the east coast, we changed her name and her birthday and anything else we could, and kidnapped her for her own good."

"Does she know?" I could barely scrape the question out of my throat. I felt like the Sahara had lodged itself between my stomach and my mouth while my mate was talking.

"Yes," Scott assured me. "And either she's an amazing actress or she has the worst case of Stockholm syndrome you've ever seen. I mean, she can totally convince you that she _agrees_ that sending a homicidally touchy elementary-school kid home to eat her parents would have been a bad idea. And that she likes this guy," he jerked a thumb toward Adam. "It's crazy."

Adam declined to take the bait. Samuel, diligently re-stitching his patient, threw me a wary look and then buried himself in his work again. It was the first change of expression he'd had since he walked in; he'd almost certainly heard all of this before. I was the only one who didn't know the story.

"You were right," Scott continued, nodding to Adam and shoving both hands in his pockets. His voice was laced with manic energy. "We should have scheduled the attack more carefully, more like ours. But at least you're not feeling all dramatically guilty about something that happened by chance. Becoming a wolf by accident, that would just be cruel and unusual. And I still think the engraved invitations would have been over the top."

"Enough," Adam snapped, his eyes blazing up to skewer Scott. The tide of sarcastic babbling halted immediately. "Enough, Scott," he repeated more calmly. "You've made your point."

We stood in distinctly awkward silence for a little while, watching Samuel work. Scott, quieted but by no means subdued, at least had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. I wondered ruefully how many times my foster parents had wished I'd been smart enough to do that.

"It was a kindness, sparing her mother the way you did." Samuel offered eventually. His conviction warmed the room, thawing Adam's glacial expression a tiny bit. He spoke, I knew, from very personal experience. Not an unbiased moral judge for Adam's conscience, but all the more reliable for his prejudice. "No mother should have to see something like that. There was no way she should have survived."

"_We_ certainly didn't think she would," Scott affirmed. "We kept an eye on her out of protocol, not hope. She didn't even start healing until nine days after the funeral. Her parents were already packed by then."

"Nine days?" Samuel looked up in puzzlement; apparently he didn't know _all_ the details. "That's… a very long time."

"It was one of the worst things I've ever experienced." Adam's grim tone cut at me; I left my post by the wall and slipped up behind him, wrapping my arms over his stomach and pressing my cheek against his broad, warm back. He laid a hand across mine. "I wondered, often, if it wouldn't be kinder to just let her go, but how do you stop treating a kid that age? I don't think our doctor would have complied, even if I'd been able to order it."

Samuel wouldn't have; that much was plain on his face. "It seems to have worked out for the best."

Scott sighed elaborately and leaned against the wall, folding his arms and cocking his head. "Guess they just don't make bloodthirsty monsters like they used to. Back in the good old days—"

I cut him off before he could make some really ill-considered comment and call down Samuel's wrath. There were still plenty of bloodthirsty monsters among the werewolves; I didn't know details, but I knew Samuel considered himself to have been one of them on occasion. This was not the kind of joke he'd take well. "So who took care of her? After she was all healed up. A kidnapped child werewolf-walker doesn't sound like the safest foster kid to take in."

"She was adopted by the pack. Adam and Jonah were her foster fathers, and I was more like the no-account uncle, you know, the cool one. I have always been something of a rapscallion." Scott gave me a rakish smile.

"Scott was the first one she spoke to," Adam confided gently, patting my hands. "He used to sing her to sleep every night."

"And Jonah used to go to parent teacher conferences, and you used to make macaroni and cheese. For the first five weeks after she got better she would only eat three things: grapes, peanut butter toast, and macaroni and cheese." Scott turned to me, his eyes alight with mischief. "You should have seen him, humming away in the kitchen. I was gonna get him an apron for Christmas, maybe one of those big chef's hats, y'know?"

"At least I don't burn macaroni," Adam retorted. I grinned at his sensitivity about his domestic side. Among other things, Adam is a fantastic cook.

"I have other gifts," Scott asserted. "Like being able to help with math homework."

Adam gave that comment half a smile. "And welcome to it." He turned in my embrace and planted one strong arm along my back, scooping me forward until I was nestled beside him. "Well doc, what's the word?" he asked, planting a kiss on my hair.

"Prognosis vastly improved, even with the new damage." Samuel stepped back from his patient, who was still out cold despite his attentions, and stretched, sounding satisfied for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours. "The wolf is finally kicking in. These wounds will all heal a little slowly, since they were inflicted by another wolf or by silver, but she should be able to control herself and move around in a couple days. The most important thing will be getting her fed up a bit; we'll see how well she eats, and if it's not enough I'll put her back on the feeding tube. After I call da about the sedative."

When he had realized that he was losing control of the wolf inside him, my old friend Dr. Wallace had taken extraordinary measures. Always a brilliant man, he had set about solving his problem with logic. By coupling a powerful tranquilizer with soluble silver and a chemical carrier, he had created a drug that could affect the werewolves' normally invulnerable system. Since silver is toxic to werewolves, it wasn't a long term solution and it couldn't save my friend. But Samuel and his father had been exploring applications since then. If all Gena needed was a day or two of lying still so she could be pumped full of nutrients, it might work perfectly.

"Time for everyone to go to bed, then. I'll send your replacement down momentarily." Adam waved a cursory good night and steered me out of the room. I shook him off with playful indignation and was glad to see that he smiled and rolled his eyes at me instead of snapping. He was starting to feel a little better.

"What else do you want to know?" he inquired softly as we reached the stairs.

I stopped and looked at him; he just shook his head and took my arm, pulling me gently back into motion. "I pay attention, Mercy," he said.

He does. That's something I've always liked about him. It shouldn't surprise me. I hadn't planned on pumping him anymore tonight, not after that intense round of explanations, but there was no reason to waste an opportunity dropped in my lap. "Let's start with whatever else you've been keeping from me," I sulked.

He snorted. "I'm not doing it intentionally." We'd reached the top of the basement stairs—with a look he detailed Aurielle, who was reading in the living room, to relieve Scott and Samuel. We exchanged cool nods as she passed. Aurielle is part of the anti-coyote-in-the-pack faction, although I don't think she has anything against me personally. I noted with some satisfaction that there were cookie crumbs stuck on her sweater.

Adam squeezed my hand and began drawing me toward the second floor. "Eventually I'd like to tell you everything there is to know about my life, satisfy that driving curiosity of yours, but it might take a year or ten. So tell me where you want to start."

_With whatever's going to be important next…_ "Point taken. Hmm. Have any other foster kids running around?"

"No other kids, foster or otherwise. And Jonah was really her foster father. I was mostly just her alpha."

Adam was her Bran. That was easy enough to understand. That would make Jonah her version of Brian, my werewolf foster father. The one who had killed himself when I was 14. I wondered who that made Scott; I didn't really have any uncles. "What happened to Jonah?"

"Pack got on the wrong side of a witch. He took 3 silver bullets to the head."

Ouch. Also interesting; witches tend to favor magical approaches over physical ones. The old 'everything looks like a nail' adage at work—a powerful witch can wield her (or his) abilities as a heck of a hammer.

We'd reached the second floor. I turned toward our room, but Adam tugged me down the hall the other way. "He was the gentlest man I ever knew," he whispered sadly as we came to a stop in front of Jesse's door.

Adam eased the door silently open and settled himself against the frame. It was difficult to pick out the dark blob that was Jesse's recumbent form in the general chaos of her room, but Honey, resplendent in her winter coat and sprawled across the foot of the bed, was much easier to identify. She wagged her tail and bobbed her head once in greeting, then snuggled more firmly against a lump in the blankets that must be Jesse. We stood in the doorway a few minutes, listening to the slow, even whoosh of breathing; through our bond I could feel Adam relaxing a little more, peace taking a tenuous hold on his cluttered and overtaxed emotions. I leaned my head on his shoulder, and he looked over at me and smiled. Then he closed the door as gently as he had opened it and led the way to our room.

Part of me wanted to collapse into bed and stay there for the next week, but the adrenaline needed to wear off a little more before I could fall asleep. Besides that, I was still curious.

"So the gentlest man you ever knew was a werewolf?" _A werewolf strong enough to be an alpha?_

Adam smiled. "An Amish werewolf, if you can believe it."

I couldn't.

As we got ready for bed Adam told me the story. "He defended a neighbor of his, a girl who was getting picked on by some young men in the city near their community. The altercation devolved into a fistfight. It was something of a scandal; the Amish don't believe in fighting, but Jonah beat up three of the bullies. One was injured quite badly. The boys were friends with one of the members of the local pack, and one night a week later Jonah and his father were attacked on their way home. The wolf killed and ate their horse, took the father's right hand and most of his face, and left Jonah for dead at the roadside. It was an hour and a half before a lost tourist found them and called for help.

"Jonah was well again in less than a week; a lot of people called it a miracle. When he found out what had really happened to him he couldn't decide if he was being blessed, punished, or taken by the devil."

"How old was he?"

"22. Only three months away from being baptized into his community. He was supposed to be married a few months after that."

"Poor kid. How did he handle it? I can't see a pacifist werewolf leading a very… comfortable existence."

"He decided it was a calling, I think. Made his own vows to God." The derisive twist in my husband's voice made me cringe a little; I put a hand on the reassuring form of the sheep necklace I always wear as a symbol of the Lamb of God. Adam isn't a believer, but I go to church every week. I've always been able to feel a benevolent presence there, and my faith gives me a measure of protection from some of the nastier things that go bump in the night. All the evil I'd seen has made me more grateful for the powers of good; it seemed to have had the opposite effect on Adam.

"Hmm. A non-violent werewolf. I wouldn't have thought that was possible at all," I mused as I climbed under the covers. The bed welcomed me and I snuggled in with a blissful if somewhat bleary smile.

"Not entirely non-violent," Adam corrected, flipping out the light and stretching out beside me. "He could fight just fine if he wanted to. But he had a strength of personality that worked better most of the time. He was kind." My mate yawned, stretching his arms wide, and I took the opportunity to burrow against him and drop a kiss on his shoulder. Hot, bare skin pressed against me as he enfolded me; I was washed in the subtle, comforting scent of him.

"All done with questions?" he murmured sleepily.

"For now. We'll have to see about tomorrow."

His happy laugh followed me into my dreams.


	6. Chapter 6

I am really, really sorry this took so long to get posted. This chapter was a bear to write, and while I was wrestling with it I had an unexpected work trip, short notice out of town visitors, and a cranky computer. The computer is still cranky, but hopefully I've learned how to soothe it well enough that there won't be any more major delays; I should be back to my regular posting schedule as of Wednesday. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you're still enjoying the story.

* * *

By the time Adam and I woke up, nine hours later, there wasn't a whole lot of our day left, but we took what there was. Adam slipped downstairs to check on Jesse and gather sustenance for us, and I lay drowsily in the mid-afternoon sun slanting across the bed and wished I didn't have to go to work on Monday. I love my job, and I'm usually excited to start a new week, but after a weekend of chaos and angry werewolves I didn't feel particularly rested. It didn't help any that my shoulder was still stiff and sore. I rotated it gently, trying to stretch out the kinks.

The door opened a crack and I caught a flash of neon green.

"Jesse?"

My daughter poked her head in. "You're awake? I heard you had a long night."

"I'm awake. Your dad's downstairs. How are you doing?"

"Well," she said, sliding through the door and slipping up onto the bed, "I'm hoping you can tell me. Before Dad gets back. Is he going to try to send me back to Mom? 'Cause I don't want to fight with him, but I'm not going to go."

Adam's ex-wife has a lot of failings, not the least of which is her consistent willingness to use her daughter as a tool to punish Adam and to forget about her or neglect her the rest of the time. Jesse loves her mother anyway, but I wasn't surprised that she would rather continue to live with her father most of the time. Nor did I think her worries were unfounded; Adam's concern for his daughter's safety made it easy for Christy to manipulate him. It was his one weak spot. Adam was scrupulously fair and honest; he'd probably told Jesse's mom all about the attack just after it happened. I hadn't thought to ask him. If Christy hadn't started in on him yet, she would soon.

"Don't worry," I reassured my daughter, tousling her verdant curls. "He hasn't mentioned it to me, and if he does, I'll talk him out of it. I can be very persuasive. First, I'll—"

"Oh, oh, oh," she cut me off. "No details, please. I know Dad's a stud-muffin and all, but there are some things a daughter does not need to know. Or hear. Or see. Please, especially not see."

I grinned. "If you insist. You just leave it to me. And I'll try to keep my hands off him when you're around, but I make no promises."

"I may have to set rules for you two: five hugs, three kisses, and one provocative eyebrow waggle per day," she laughed, demonstrating with one meticulously shaped eyebrow. The relief on her face as she stood up was flattering; fortunately I felt very confident in my ability to deliver on my promise. I'd hate to betray that kind of trust.

"I'll see your limits and raise you two longing glances. Think you and Gabriel could make it with rules like that?"

"Me?" her expression dropped in mock horror. "When did this become about me? These regulations are for the over thirty crowd."

"Turnabout is fair play. What's good for the goose, etcetera."

She grinned. "I better get out of here, before you get anymore great ideas." She stopped, halfway to the door, and turned back, expression pensive. "Hey, Mercy? Thanks. For not sending me back, or off to boarding school or something."

"Boarding school?" I laughed. "Do people still do that?"

"Yes," she answered soberly. "I have friends… sometimes it's school, sometimes it's their grandparent's house or whatever, sometimes," she shrugged, "they don't get banished, they just get… pushed aside. I know that could have been me, and I'm really glad it's not."

"Jesse, that was never going to be you. Your dad loves you way too much to ever let someone treat you like that. Besides, you are part of what I love about being in this family. It wouldn't be the same without you. You are my daughter and I love you." I heard Adam's tread on the stairs and decided to have a little fun. "Besides, if your dad didn't have you around he'd never have been able to get married at all. Can you imagine how hopeless he'd be without you to manage him?"

"That's a scary thought," Jesse giggled as the door popped open to reveal her father and a plate heaped high with sandwiches. He gave us a playfully wary once-over.

"No wonder my ears were burning," he drawled. "I'd ask what you two were discussing in here, but I don't think I want to know."

"Not if you're wise," I agreed, sitting up and smoothing the blankets to make a better place for him. He laid our repast on the bedspread and kissed his daughter's hair. She hugged him and ducked out, shutting the door behind her.

"So," I inquired as my mate stretched out beside me, "is the world still spinning?"

"It appears that way." He grabbed a sandwich off the plate and stuffed half of it in his mouth, gulping it down. "Gena's still asleep, no word from Los Alamos or Montana, and the patrols report all is well. We may have a few hours entirely to ourselves."

"Careful, you'll jinx us." I considered snagging one of the sandwiches; I was hungry. But Adam's ear was much closer, and it distracted me. I leaned over and began nibbling on it instead. Adam laughed and swallowed the rest of his sandwich.

"What will we do with all that free time?" he asked, canting his head to expose the warm, creamy skin of his neck.

I had a few ideas. I decided to demonstrate.

*********

It was well after dark when I wrapped myself in a towel and yielded the shower to Adam. I'd rather have turned around and followed him back under the hot water, but I contented myself with a kiss as he passed by. His happiness followed me into the bedroom, flowing through our mate bond. It warmed me as I hunted up clothes in the enormous walk-in closet, made the bed, and grabbed the empty sandwich plate from the floor.

I stuck my head in the bathroom. "I'll be down in the kitchen," I called. My normal speaking voice was loud enough for a wolf to hear, even over the white noise of the running shower, and my husband nodded. Willing myself not to stay and stare, I closed the door behind me. One last, satisfied scan around the bedroom showed it to be up to Adam's neat-freak standards. Time to face the world.

I stopped in at Jesse's door on my way downstairs. "Had dinner yet?"

She quirked her lips in amusement. "About an hour and half ago."

"What about desert?"

"Everything you made last night is gone. I don't think any of it saw the sunrise."

"That's ok—I was thinking ice cream sundaes anyway."

She thought about it for about half a second. "I'm in," she announced, laying down her pencil and rolling off her bed. She stuck her tongue out at the math book still open on the blanket. "I'll deal with you later," she promised it.

I let Jesse sculpt a diabetes-inducing masterpiece for her father while I put together more modest arrangements for the two of us. Adam came down just in time to get his nose decorated with whip cream before we put it away. Jesse squealed and let him chase her around the kitchen for vengeance , the both of them acting more like she was six than a mature and savvy sixteen. I laughed at them and stole one of Adam's cherries.

I was barely halfway through my sundae when an irate and distinctly frazzled Aurielle stuck her head around the basement stairwell with a grumpy, "She's awake." Adam, Jesse, and I all stood simultaneously; Adam caught Jesse by the shoulder as she rounded the table.

"Not yet," he started, before she could protest. "I'll let you visit, but not yet."

"I've already been down there, Dad. Darryl let me talk to her for a little while this morning. It'll be fine."

"Was she awake when you saw her?"

Jesse pursed her lips in answer. "Gigi wouldn't hurt me, Dad."

A frightened and injured werewolf would hurt just about anyone, but pointing that out was unlikely to sway Jesse. She'd inherited her father's stubbornness, and his talent for getting his way.

"She's going to be scared, waking up wounded in an unfamiliar place," I reasoned instead. "If you go down there, she'll feel like she needs to protect you. That's not a very nice thing to do to someone with her injuries."

Adam had the good sense to smother the approval he felt for this argument, keeping his face stern. "I doubt she'll feel much like talking anyway," he added. "You have a long weekend coming up in three days – plenty of time to catch up. And Gena will feel better by then."

Jesse glared, lodging her continued complaint with her crossed arms and clenched jaw, but she kept any further verbal protests to herself. Adam, unreassured, flicked his gaze between Aurielle and I. She hadn't actually agreed to stay upstairs.

"I'll keep an eye on her," Aurielle volunteered glumly. "I'm off the roster for nursemaid duty anyway."

I choked back a chuckle at her sullen expression. Her husband had found out the same way that he wasn't as dominant as he thought he was; he hadn't taken it any better, either. Aureille, as Darryl's mate, outranked everyone but her husband, Adam and I. She was used to being obeyed. She'd probably ordered Gena around once upon a time; Darryl and Aureille had met in Los Alamos.

Adam led the way down the stairs, no doubt to protect me from the half dead young woman who had so recently saved my life. I was smart enough to let him. Over his shoulder I could see Warren leaning against the doorframe in front of Gena's room; he was keeping a nice, constant stream of soothing words rolling in that friendly cowboy drawl that was so contagious.

"Hey boss, Mercy," he greeted us with a wave but without moving his eyes from the room. "Glad you're here. I've been using your name as a sort of charm against evil, but I don't think it would work much longer without you here in the flesh to back it up." He moved aside to make room for Adam in the doorway. I stayed in the hallway and peeked around my mate.

The silver burns around her neck, wrists, and ankles were much more visible on her human body than on either of her wolf ones. The emaciation was more apparent as well. Bruises still dappled her skin with purple and green and yellow, and Samuel's neat, individual stitches formed thick dark lines across her chest and belly and down both legs. It hurt me just looking at her. I was glad we'd left Jesse upstairs.

She must have been better off than last night, though, because her legs had functioned enough to let her out of bed. She was wedged into a corner of the room, naked and huddled. And apparently waiting for Adam, because as soon as she saw him she slumped from her ready position into a seat on the floor. "You _are_ here," she sighed.

"I am," he agreed mildly, and dispatched Warren to rouse Scott. Gena relaxed a little further as he left. "That was Warren, my third," Adam explained. "He's a friend of Jesse's." It was an odd way to introduce Warren, but bringing Jesse into the conversation at once assured Gena that Warren was trustworthy and distracted her from the unfamiliarity of her surroundings.

"Jesse's ok?"

"Jesse's fine. She's upstairs eating ice cream and doing homework. She'd like to come talk to you, when you're feeling up to it."

Gena nodded but did not suggest that Jesse come right down. Her fingers strayed absently to the red, peeling skin on her wrist, tracing the angry mark of the shackle. Adam took two slow, deliberate steps into the room.

"This is my mate, Mercy," he said, towing me in after him. "You might remember her from your last fight."

At the word 'mate' Gena's head jerked toward me; the leaf green of her irises was bright in her bloodshot, darkly circled eyes. She nodded politely at me but when she spoke it was to Adam.

"I'm sorry for bringing him here. I couldn't fight him, and I thought he would give up eventually."

Adam waved the apology aside. "He was handled," he assured her, although I knew he didn't really feel so calm about the issue. I hoped he hadn't been serious about having me guarded until Labor Day. "How do you feel?"

Gena looked herself over. "Like I look."

"I was afraid of that. Our doctor would be happier if you got back in the bed."

Her face said it was a long way to the bed, but she moved obediently. Her progress was slow and tremulous, but Adam made no move to help her, even when she clenched her jaw and panted in pain. It was a kindness on his part, even though it didn't seem like one. Wolves don't like accepting help or showing weakness. As long as it was physically possible, Gena would pretend everything was fine and insist on fending for herself. Wolves are a lot like two year olds that way.

When she had successfully crawled back onto the bed Adam moved over to stand beside her, walking slowly and telegraphing his movements so that she would not feel surprised or threatened. "Can you tell me what happened to you?" he asked quietly.

She dropped her eyes and let them wander—over me, the furniture, the floor, anywhere and everywhere but Adam. Several times she started to speak and stopped. "No," she said eventually, winding the edge of the blanket between her fingers. "I'm not sure that I can."

Adam gave her a minute or two to elaborate, but she didn't.

"We decided that you probably walked here." I hoped it was a sufficiently harmless detail. I wanted to draw her out. "Is that correct?"

She nodded.

"It must have taken you a long time. About three weeks?"

She nodded again.

I glanced at Adam, but he was no help; he just motioned for me to continue. I'd hoped that he would take over, and I wouldn't have to be the one to blunder into whatever it was that she didn't want to talk about.

Three weeks. There were closer wolf packs than that, much closer. She had been coming to Adam specifically. That she had walked the whole way as a wolf suggested both secrecy and duress. Adam had discussed possibilities with half a dozen people, including me, but all we could say for certain was that Gena had been in desperate need of someone she could trust, of a refuge.

"We didn't know that you'd left Los Alamos, or we would have come to find you. It looks like someone hurt you before you got to us; is that correct?"

I could see her heart rate pick up, the hammering of her heart vibrating her bony chest ever so slightly. Her breath hastened to match. She nodded.

"But you got away," I noted soothingly. "You got away and now you're safe with us. Did you kill the person who hurt you?"

She looked up, pools of chocolate bubbling in her green eyes. "Not yet." Clearly, rectifying that was a big part of her future plans.

Adam laid a hand on her shoulder and she closed her eyes, inclining her head until her cheek brushed his fingers. "It's waited this long," he murmured, "it can wait another week." I suspected he was telling himself more than her, but she ducked her chin in agreement. When she opened her eyes they were fully human again.

A flurry of steps on the stairs and a rollicking rendition of "Mary had a little lamb" heralded Scott's arrival at our little party. I was still watching Gena's face for danger signs, so I noticed the sheer delight that lifted every exhausted feature in the instant she heard his voice. It broke over her like a wave and then receded, but it left her face changed for the better. Maybe she could talk to _him_.

"Warren went back to bed, upstairs this time," he reported breezily as he blew through the door. "And I brought breakfast in bed for the runt." He smiled an Adonisian smile and bowed over the plate of raw steak we'd put in the refrigerator yesterday, against the waking of our guest. A recuperating werewolf needs serious protein, as fast as it can be obtained.

The smile froze on his lips.

Gena's eyes, wide and horrified, were fully mocha. She scrambled backwards, hyperventilating, little whining noises clawing their way out of her tightened throat. The little bedroom suddenly flooded with the stench of fear-- more than fear. Terror. Panic…

"Adam, she's having a panic attack." My warning was somewhat unnecessary; Adam was familiar with the signs. I'd had some trouble with panic attacks, severe ones, before I'd joined the pack, before I'd learned to let the magic bonds I shared with my husband's wolves carry away my bad memories and my fear when they became too much for me to handle. Gena's pack was more than a thousand miles away; she had no ties to help her.

I grabbed Scott by the shoulders and turned him around. "Take that and put it somewhere far away," I told him, almost shoving him out of the room. "Then hurry back. Hurry." He left at a sprint.

_What on earth was that about?_ Adam's alpha magic prickled along my skin; he had locked eyes with Gena and taken a firm grip on her shoulders. "Stay back, Mercy," he warned me as I came around to help.

She was twitching and shaking, the whimpers slowly being subsumed in growls. Involuntary change. Her wolf, always survival minded, was stepping up to deal with the emotions that her human side couldn't handle. When she was finished her human side, with its concerns about ethics and self control, would be entirely lost in the rage and violence of the wolf.

I didn't realize I was backing up until I ran into the wall. "This is bad."

Adam grunted in affirmation. "I am going to destroy whoever caused this. I should just let her shift, but if she can't talk she can't answer my questions, and I need to know what's happening."

Scott reappeared in the doorway, looking more than a little panicked himself. "Straight to the big wolf?" he asked incredulously, and swore. "We are in trouble now."

I stamped on his toes, firmly, and he stopped the string of profanity he was venting before it had the chance to distract my husband. Adam was hovering, his face inches from Gena's vacant eyes. "Speak to me, little one," he ordered. "Tell me what happened to you."

A spark of humanity came back to Gena's face at his command – the fear came back with it. "Can't… can't…" she whispered. "Please, no. No, no, no, no, no…" The 'no's became stronger, louder, transforming from a plea into a rushing denial of whatever it was she was running from. Beside me, Scott started cursing again, under his breath.

"I could hold her," Adam growled, "and make her answer, but I think it would break her."

She looked broken already.

"Is there anything that we absolutely have to know?"

"I suppose immediate threat to life and limb is all we absolutely have to hear about. If whatever she's running from couldn't catch her alone on the road, she should be safe here. That leaves Los Alamos." He turned back to his foster daughter, whose slow mutation had begun to pick up speed. The bones in her face were stretching, her jaw lengthening and her teeth showing tall and sharp behind her darkening lips. Face first, so that she wouldn't have to speak; I wondered if the order was intentional.

My mate noticed, too, and snarled. This really would be the last question, at least until tomorrow. He made it count. "Geneva, answer me: Is the Los Alamos pack in danger?" Adam's power slid into me like water, searching every nook and cranny of my body for the answer to his question. For Gena, who actually knew the answer, silence would not be an option if any spark of her human mind remained aware enough to remember words.

She screamed, her shoulder joints popping and twisting, and I thought that maybe the question had come too late. After a few panting breaths, however, she managed one single, menacing snarl before her mouth twisted away from human sound. "YES." The hatred in that word was a promise.

"The whole pack, huh? I was afraid that with all you big dogs here I wouldn't get a piece of the fun, but it looks like I'm back in the action." Scott's tone had me backing away again: there was an edge to it, and hysterical is not a good mood for a werewolf. He looked ready for the fight he was talking about, weight forward on the balls of his feet, bouncing a little in anticipation. I was so busy watching his body for motion that I almost missed the fact that his eyes were now a startling apple green. Gena's change was tugging on him, pulling him in after her. A wolf can feel another wolf change; it creates a domino effect, one change inviting another. The more dominant the wolf, the more forceful is the invitation. Gena was very dominant, far more dominant than Scott.

"Scott." Adam's voice, kind but very firm, recalled both of us to ourselves. I blinked and sidled closer to my husband, taking in the welcome heat of his skin. I still wasn't used to having a partner around, someone to watch my back. I'd better not get too used to it—Adam couldn't be everywhere, after all. But it was pleasant, not having to handle every over-excited werewolf on my own.

Scott settled back into his mask of sardonic irreverence, but the tightness in his mouth and eyes mirrored the tightness in my stomach that was Adam's worry. "Scott," Adam ordered," would you please take Gena into the safe room next door and make her as comfortable as possible. She'll be changing for another fifteen minutes at least, and I have a call to make."

Scott approached his growling, writhing charge cautiously, looking for a safe handhold amidst the claws and teeth. After a second of contemplation, he picked up a blanket and wrapped it gingerly over her, allowing him to pin her limbs with one hand and support her body with the other. She screamed again, although the sound was more howl than scream, as he lifted her, and he clucked in sympathy. Involuntary changes hurt worse than the regular kind, and the touch had to be excruciating, but there was no way around it and he didn't bother apologizing. "Come on, Gigi. Let's get you settled where you won't eat any of the nice people. Hey boss," he called over his shoulder as he carried her off, "you should send Ben down to guard her from inside the cell, you know, keep her from ripping the place up. I could get him for you."

Adam ignored the offer of homicide; Gena would be able and willing to tear almost anyone in the house to shreds once she finished her change. Ben and Scott hadn't had much contact since Scott pretty much never left Gena's side, but apparently a little had been more than enough. It usually was with Ben.

"Calling Bran?" I asked as my mate flipped open his phone and punched a number on the speed-dial.

"Mmm," he answered, and I heard Bran's pleasant and deceptively mild voice on the other end of the line.

Adam gave a summary of our findings to date; they sounded even less impressive in summary. "The only thing I can say with certainty," he concluded," is that she very much wants to annihilate her pack. I have no idea why, or what it means for the situation as a whole."

Bran gave a quiet little sigh, and I had the queasy feeling of more bad news coming. "Well," he confided, "someone in Los Alamos finally checked the messages, and they gave me a call back half an hour ago. It seems that she does intend to wipe out the pack. It also appears that she's already started, with her alpha."


	7. Chapter 7

"The Marrok is certain she killed him?" Darryl sat stiffly at one end of the huge couch in the basement sitting room, his dark eyes following Adam's pacing. I sat at the other end, a buffer between Darryl and Warren, who was lounging, apparently at ease, in the recliner. Warren's languid posture, I noted, kept his head very obviously below Darryl's. Scott, seated on the floor next to the silver bars of the safe room, was lower than everyone. We were all very conscious of protocol tonight, it seemed.

"I say bully for her," Scott interjected. "Trent Bains was a…" he glanced at Adam's black countenance, "scurrilous, narcissistic wastrel," he decided pointedly, "who didn't have the brains or the juevos to be an alpha in a pack that hadn't just been steamrolled. I'm surprised he made it this long." He nodded approvingly at Gena, who had passed out in a corner of the cell after two or three wobbling but heartfelt attacks on the bars. "Offing him was a service to man and werewolf kind."

"But also a murder," Warren drawled softly, "since it couldn't have been a sanctioned dominance fight." As a female, Gena couldn't be an alpha, so she couldn't challenge Trent for his place.

"She didn't just wake up one morning and decide to rip his throat out," I objected. "Something happened to her, something terrible. If he was involved in it, he brought his death on himself." _Like Tim did._ "She's entitled to defend herself."

"What do we actually know about what happened?" Darryl's PhD was showing. He wanted facts. Darryl worked at an elite think tank – maybe he could make something better of the facts than I could. I hoped so; what Bran had told us didn't look good.

"Almost nothing," Adam snarled. "One eyewitness so far, who claims Geneva was alone with Bains and the pack second, Derrick Eichenseer. Gena came out of the room in wolf form, covered in blood, and ran into the woods. She took a chunk out of the second's arm and left Bains savaged. That's it. But," he admitted reluctantly, "Bran says the witness is truthful. They are _requesting_ she be returned, for discipline." Werewolves don't have jails. Punishment is physical, brutal, and immediate. If we turned her over to Los Alamos now, we would only have saved Gena's life for her execution.

Warren's eyebrows rose. "She took on the two most dominant members of the pack alone? And won? And they're admitting it? Did she have a rocket launcher up her sleeve?"

Scott snorted. "Trent was not the most dominant wolf in that pack."

_Of course not,_ I realized. _Gena was_.

It made sense. It explained why she had been able to kill Bains. It also brought out some very good reasons that Gena and her alpha might have had problems with each other.

My mate is the fourth most dominant male in North America; the most, if you don't count the Marrok's family. His pack, _our_ pack, was more than usually dominant, too. Darryl could be an alpha for more than half the packs in the country, and Warren was stronger than Darryl even though he pretended not to be. Aurielle and Honey were both dominant enough to, at the very least, be someone's second-- if they had been male. Since they were female, they didn't count. Like Gena didn't count when her pack had been given new leadership after Jonah's death. But if she could dominate Aurielle, it was a good bet that she would be towards the top of the stack just about anywhere. Bran would have been the one to approve the new alpha, since all the packs were under him. I doubted that the females in the Los Alamos pack had even crossed his mind when he'd done it. For purposes of pack government, females are only extensions of their mates. Our pack had three women… no, four women; I wasn't used to counting myself. Our pack had four very strong, very intelligent women, and without progressively-minded Adam calling the shots we'd all be left in the dark, all the time. Equal rights are an entirely foreign concept to the wolves.

But that wouldn't have changed the fact that Gena's alpha was weaker than she was, and they both would have known it. Everyone in the pack would have. When a man was more dominant than his alpha, he challenged. What options were there for a woman?

While I was having my epiphany, the conversation was moving on without me. "How did he end up top dog?" Warren asked, sitting up slightly and running a hand over his sleep-disheveled hair.

"The pack had a feud with a witch." Darryl's deep voice hummed with anger, and I remembered that the wolves left behind in Los Alamos had been his pack, too. "Took out the top third in one night."

The top _third_? I winced along with Warren. No wonder the witch had been using silver bullets. Taking out that many wolves would require serious magic _and_ a sizeable arsenal. What could have provoked that kind of fight?

"Besides Gena, there's only one wolf left from my time there," Adam said sadly. "Zach's a submissive, and the only one in the whole pack who's been a wolf more than six years."

"The Marrok didn't want to bring in a stranger to head the group; said they'd been through enough, and he'd let Trent try his hand." Scott was flipping a quarter, watching the flashing silver of the coin's rise and fall as he spoke. "But frat-boy was in over his head. Way over. He was losing control of his wolves. Gena thought the second might challenge. She thought he'd win if he did."

"You're curiously well informed." Darryl made it sound like an accusation; Scott's answering shrug looked defensive.

"We talk sometimes, Gigi and I. Every few months I, I check on her."

I shifted to face Scott fully. "So do _you_ have any idea what triggered this?"

"Nah. All I know is that she hated him, and didn't much like the rest of the pack. She was thinking about petitioning, moving somewhere else. Almost anywhere else. Your informant say why she was meeting with the boss-man?"

Adam's jaw clenched. "He said she had become difficult, out of line. They thought she was going to hurt someone. She was being disciplined when she escaped." That information, coming on the heels of Gena's involuntary change, had tied knots in my stomach that hadn't loosened yet. If Gena was having reactions she couldn't control, like that panic attack, she was dangerous. If she didn't get a handle on the situation quickly, there might not be any options. She couldn't be allowed to hurt anyone.

She'd saved my life. I didn't want her to die.

"If they couldn't handle her before, what makes them think they'll be able to now?" Darryl's lip curled in scorn. "It sounds like the pack needs to be restructured."

"Well, they will be now," Adam pointed out. "And they're going to have to clear up a few things to my satisfaction before I'm going to turn anyone over to them."

"Like why they didn't tell anyone they had a rogue wolf on the loose?" Warren muttered.

"And why they waited more than three weeks to report the death of their alpha. And why we can only talk to one pack member. I've called Zach half a dozen times since Gena showed up; he hasn't answered a single call."

"De-fin-ite-ly fishy," Scott chirped. "Why don't you just keep her here? She wanted to move."

"We can't, until we know what happened." I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to sound confident instead of sick. "The Marrok's justice is universal, that's why it works. If she is dangerous or guilty, we don't have a choice."

Scott was halfway to his feet before I realized he had moved. "If she killed Bains, she had good reason," he snarled.

Adam's hand was suddenly on my shoulder, but he didn't say anything. I held Trent's gaze until he dropped his eyes and sank back to the floor. "I believe you. I just hope we can get it out of her before we run out of time."

"For now," Adam said, tightening his grip on me, "I think everyone should go to bed." It was not a suggestion.

Scott moved first, slinking into the bedroom Gena had so recently vacated. Adam and I followed, his hand on my shoulder the whole way. Darryl peeled off from the parade as we left the basement, heading out the back door with a terse, "Goodnight." I trudged up the stairs ahead of Adam, suddenly dead tired despite the fact that I'd been asleep most of the day. As I sank into bed I realized that it was technically Monday already. An hour in, and it was already shaping up to be a rotten week.

"This is what I get for hanging around with werewolves," I mourned as Adam turned out the light.

"True," he agreed, sliding in until he was pressed against me, "but you also get other things." He took my hand in his and pressed his lips to the inside of my wrist. I gasped, then giggled as he worked his way up the inside of my arm. I let him get to my collarbone before I turned, bringing myself nose to nose with him in the dark.

"I suppose," I admitted as I returned his kisses, "that there are some perks."

"One or two." His voice, rumbling and satisfied, warmed me like a blanket. I smiled, knowing that six inches away in the blackness, the love of my life was smiling, too.

*****

By Monday afternoon I was torn between running in circles and falling asleep at my desk. I'd had one customer all day: a VW bug in need of a belt replacement and a tune-up. The work was made slightly more interesting by virtue of the 6 foot, 7 inch tall owner having entirely removed the front seat – he could drive comfortably from the rear seat, but it was a bit of a stretch for me. Still, the job was finished by lunch, and I was left alone in my sparkling, perfectly organized shop. I should hire myself out as a maid until business picked up again.

I was in desperate need of something to do. After an hour of watching me wander around at loose ends Honey, my bodyguard for the day, had retreated to her car to listen to the radio and talk on the phone; we get along better than we used to, but not so well that we can handle a whole day with only each other for company. Gabriel wasn't due in for at least an hour. I was on my own.

One of the advantages of being my own boss is that there's no one to get upset if I decide to use an afternoon lull to poke around on the internet. Adam had been unexpectedly forthcoming, but he wasn't my only potential source. Time for some research.

Ten minutes on the internet produced a wealth of information on the death of Geneva Eliason. A video clip, from a press conference the day after the attack, gave me more than I wanted to see about her parents. Dr. Eliason, a short, dark-haired man with a massive bandage across his right cheek and the look of a person who had aged ten years overnight, managed a broken speech of gratitude for all the neighbors and emergency personnel who were helping look for his little girl. His wife, six months pregnant, sobbed the entire time.

The newspaper articles were a little bit easier to stomach, but not terribly enlightening. The animal that had barreled from the woods and snatched the child was described as everything from dog to grizzly bear, and thanks to the footprints of dozens of volunteer searchers no evidence remained to decide the point. The family photo adopted for the memorial showed a gangly little girl with a wide, welcoming smile; the article claimed that there wasn't enough of her left to bury. It was an empty casket funeral.

I didn't have a last name for Jonah, and the Los Alamos Monitor didn't archive its obituaries online. I'd have to wait for more information there. The only other name I had was Scott's, and I didn't have all of his, either. But I did have his tattoo. Not every tattoo is a signpost to the soul, of course, but I had the feeling Scott's was. Like the paw print on my belly it was small, private. It was the only one he had. It wanted to tell me something.

It was harder than finding a newspaper article, but after a few unfruitful strings of search words I remembered my impression that the symbol was military; a lot of wolves are drawn to (or from) soldiering. It's a good calling for them, combining fighting and strict hierarchy as it does. I changed the '9' in my search to '9th' and replaced 'tattoo' with 'insignia', and there it was: a Chinese dragon wrapped around the number 9. The Manchu dragon, apparently-- distinctive unit insignia of the 9th US infantry regiment. The picture was missing the red and green striped rectangle that Scott had inked beneath it. I was betting now that those stripes represented a ribbon. If I could find out which ribbon I might be able to save myself a lot of work-- the regiment's history read like a condensed list of US military action all the way back to 1812. Peter had fighting skills left over from the American Revolution or there-about; Scott could have served any time in the last 200 years. I didn't want to have to search all of US history to find him.

At the bottom of the webpage I found a list of the unit's decorations. The third one down matched the stripes on Scott's tattoo. A long, low whistle of surprise crossed my lips. The French Croix de Guerre, World War 1 version, awarded to the 9th regiment for gallantry in the Meuse-Argonne offensive. _I know how to get Jesse an A on her next American History report._ A firsthand account of life on the Western Front would do it for sure. St. Mihiel, Marne, Lorraine… he'd had a front row seat for the birth of modern warfare. No wonder Scott wasn't very big on humanity.

I spent some time finding out what I could about the unit, letting the old photographs and maps tell me their stories. It's not often anymore that I get to let my inner history nerd out to play. I was still lost in centuries past when Gabriel popped through the office door.

A customer came in right after him, so I spent the next couple hours checking out a Buick that I normally wouldn't have worked on. The guy who brought it in was a regular customer, though, and the Buick was an '82 – old enough that I didn't have to worry about computer codes or specialized diagnostics for it and, having been a sixteen year old girl just learning to drive, I could understand why he wanted his daughter driving a veritable tank. It was a good, safe starter car and in decent condition, once I replaced a couple belts and a few of the gaskets and fittings. The thing had been sitting for a while, probably in some old lady's garage. I told the customer I'd have Gabriel call him when it was ready.

When I buttoned everything up for the night I found not Honey but Adam waiting for me, chatting with Gabriel in the office. "I thought we might go out tonight," he offered, kissing me hello. "There's an art exhibit at the college in Pasco."

"It sounds nice, but I'm not really dressed for it."

He grinned and held up a garment bag. "I brought you a gift."

I was skeptical, but the bag contained a green sweater that would look great against my skin and a perfectly inoffensive pair of jeans. My husband's smile broadened when he realized I wasn't going to protest; usually I'm not big on surprises. I threw an empty paper cup at him and waved goodbye to Gabriel as I ducked into the back to change.

I got the impression that Adam was more interested in giving us some breathing room than he was in the wood sculptures, but we both enjoyed the exhibit anyway. We went for Indian food after, and ordered a plate of unni appam to take home to Jesse. We didn't talk about the pack once the whole evening. By the time we pulled up at the house I felt more refreshed than I had at any point over the weekend.

It was a short-lived feeling. The first thing I saw when we pulled up was Samuel coming across the back field, dressed for work. Samuel lives in my trailer, on my property which abuts Adam's. We had been roommates until I got married; I'd almost postponed the wedding half a dozen times because I was worried about moving out and leaving him alone. But living with Sam while I was Adam's mate was only slightly more tenable than living with him as Adam's wife, and neither arrangement would work for very long. Nor was it a good idea to put Adam and Samuel under the same roof. So I moved out and did my worrying from across the back fence. He seemed to be handling the changes ok so far, but he was an excellent actor. I still wasn't sure what to do to help him.

He seemed cheerful as he met up with us; we made small talk as we headed into the house. The sounds of arguing drifted up the basement stairs, immediately audible as we walked in the door. Ben was in the living room, watching TV; Adam shot him an inquiring look, but he just shrugged his shoulders. "They don't listen to _me,_" he said, flipping channels. Adam and Samuel headed downstairs with me on their heels.

Gena was still in the safe room. She wasn't in wolf mode, and Scott was with her, inside the silver bars, so apparently things weren't out of control yet. He didn't look happy, though.

"Better to ask forgiveness than permission doesn't work for direct orders. You know I can't—" he cut off abruptly when he noticed us. "Why look, the reinforcements are here. Watch this one, she's feisty."

Samuel started a quick check-up on Gena; Adam cornered Scott. "Which direct order was in question?"

Scott held up both hands, warding the questions off. "The letting her out one, but it's all good; let her try to bully you about it." He looked relieved rather than guilty.

Adam let Samuel finish his check, but as soon as the blankets were resettled he folded his arms and asked dryly, "Now, what are you harassing poor Scott about?"

"I'm not harassing anyone. I just want a shower. You can't tell me I don't need one."

"I see. It's sheer coincidence you decided this while no one else was around."

She didn't respond, just gazed steadily at his chin, but her expression slid from stubborn resolution to subtle entreaty. The pleading look, even confined to her eyes, made my stomach clench. I knew what it was like to be desperate to feel clean.

"I'll help her," I told Adam, my voice husky with the weight of the elephant crushing my chest. Adam and Samuel both snapped around to stare at me. I looked at the lamp in the corner and concentrated on unseating the elephant. I must have startled them badly; generally they were both much more subtle when they recognized my uglier memories starting to give me a hard time.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Adam turn to Gena, then back to me. Scott, who was also watching him, backed up three steps and ran into the wall before dropping to a crouch, head down. Ah, so it was like that. Adam slid his fingers under my chin, drawing my face up to look into his. Ice yellow eyes appraised me.

"She should be alright if she has someone to keep an eye on her." I glanced at Samuel and saw that despite his calm voice he had wolf eyes, too.

"Alright," Adam acquiesced abruptly. "I'll have some clothes sent down." He stalked out of the room.

"Knows how to leave them laughing, doesn't he?" Scott asked, shaking to settle nonexistent fur. "Looks like you're the cavalry today. Thankee, ma'am." He tipped an imaginary hat with a look that said he would remember what had just transpired and he would figure it out. Let him. I was not ashamed. I refused to be ashamed.

"Scott, if she's going to make it through a shower she shouldn't walk anymore than is absolutely necessary now." Samuel's interjection saved me for the second time in less than a minute. I was properly grateful. I wouldn't hide what had happened to me, but I didn't want to dwell on it either.

Gena had flipped the blankets back and was struggling to rise on reluctant legs. "Please," Scott opened his arms with a bow and a flourish, "allow me, my lady." She gave a half smile and cuffed him, very gently, on the back of the head as he scooped her up. Her bright eyes swept over Samuel and I. "Thank you," she whispered, and her tone reaffirmed my suspicion that she wanted to wash away more than dirt. Samuel's fists clenched at his sides, but his face was relaxed as he smiled and nodded. I went ahead to open doors for Scott.

Adam was used to visitors, both expected and unexpected, and the guest bath quickly yielded almost everything a guest without luggage might need, from shampoo and big fluffy towels to chapstick and a new toothbrush. Samuel brought a chair for Scott to set Gena in; she almost objected, but decided against anything that might disrupt the proceedings. She sat quietly with her head down while I laid out the instruments of her reclamation. I was almost done when Adam called me from the stairs.

I focused on happy things, like the progress I was making with my latest car restoration project and the next color Jesse had planned for her hair, to keep myself calm and cheerful as I approached him and took the offered stack of Jesse's clothes. The better my mood was, the better his would be. Teasing Adam is a hobby of mine and usually I take great pleasure in it, but it wouldn't be a good idea right now. He was still clearly battling his outraged protective instincts for control. Adam was a good man and he loved me; the rape was almost as hard on him as it was on me. He saw it as his fault, because he had failed to protect me. Add to that his new suspicions about what had befallen his foster daughter and it was a miracle he was still in human form. I didn't like the desolation I saw lurking in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" I asked him softly.

He looked at me in surprise and snorted. "I'm not the one who needs to be okay."

"I disagree," I said, setting the clothes on the stairs. "Are you okay?"

I watched him decide not to lie to me. It was the right decision. Instead, he looked away and said nothing, which was answer enough, even if the mate bond we shared hadn't been screaming his pain at me. I reached out and folded him into my arms. He didn't resist, but he didn't relax either. I remembered my enraged mate tearing the corpse of my attacker into unrecognizable bloody bits, remembered Scott's cheerful promise of mutilation, and knew in my bones that before this was over someone was going to die. Someone not Gena. Contemplating the satisfaction I got from the memory of bashing in my rapist's head with a crowbar, I decided I might be okay with that.

In the meantime, Gena was waiting for me. Adam felt me start to pull away and tightened his grip, his lips moving on my neck in a predatory passion that made my heart take flight. He kissed me until my knees gave way, then settled me on the stairs to regain my breath. "I think I'm going to go for a run," he informed me. "Call if you need anything."

I nodded, not quite recovered enough to speak. Instead, I admired his retreating form as he went upstairs. He really is beautiful. He turned at the top of the stairs to grin at me, a gesture that would have made me feel much better if I hadn't been able to see the wolf staring through his face. I sighed, gathered Jesse's clothes, collected a book from the sitting room, and returned to the bathroom.

Gena, undressed and wrapped in a towel, was slumped against the edge of the bathtub, one hand under the faucet. She raised her head as I came in.

"I have clothes for you," I told her. She nodded wearily. "Is it warm?"

She nodded again, pushing herself upright. I hurried to get an arm around her before she fell. I helped her into the shower, leaning her against the wall while I engaged the showerhead. When I was sure her legs had steadied I left her under the stream of hot water and sat in her vacated chair, opening my book. "I'll be here if you need me," I told her, trying to give her what privacy I could.

She made it about five minutes. I heard a thump as she slid to her knees, followed by muffled sobbing. I closed my book. I wasn't really reading it anyway.

She was huddled under the steaming water, white soap bubbles sliding off her skin to circle the drain, her head cradled in her arms. Just as I knew about needing to feel clean, I knew something about memories that ambushed a person in the shower. I set a hand on her back so that she would know she wasn't alone and let her cry. When her breathing was once again slow and even I washed her hair and conditioned it, carefully avoiding her left ear, which no longer bristled with stitches but still looked tender and raw. I hoped the gentle movements would soothe her. Wolves are social animals, and touch can go a long way toward making one feel reassured and comforted. She submitted mutely to my attentions, letting me move her as I would. When the water started to cool and I turned it off I noted with satisfaction that most of her tension had drained away and the grief in her face had faded into calm. I wrapped her in a towel and helped her to the chair.

In a weird way I felt like I was taking care of myself. I tried to tell myself that I didn't even know what had happened to her, that I needed to stop projecting. It didn't stop the feeling that I was reaching through time to that horrible night and putting myself back together, that every ministration eased my own wounds.

Unmated females, like Gena, belonged to the alpha in every sense of the word. Honey had told me once that it wasn't so bad, once the werewolf instincts took over, but it sounded like rape to me and from her body language when she told me Honey felt the same way. If Gena had killed her alpha for claiming those privileges and the pack had sided with the alpha, it would explain her murderous rage. It would also put me squarely in her corner.

I brushed her hair out, then went back to my book while she brushed her teeth and dressed. Adam had selected thin, loose pajamas which were pretty much perfect from an ease of dressing standpoint.

"Feel a little better?" I asked as she folded her towel and set it neatly on top of her discarded clothes.

She nodded. "Thank you," she said again, holding my gaze. I squeezed her shoulder as I passed her and opened the bathroom door.

Scott and Samuel were both waiting right outside; if the door opened in the other direction I would have hit one or both of them in the face. Samuel's eyes were no longer white with immanent change, but I could tell he was still walking the edge. I stepped into the sitting room with him while Scott scooped Gena from her chair.

"Did it go okay?" Samuel asked me casually. He meant more than the shower.

"We managed. She's tough."

"Yes, she is," he agreed, smiling at me. He reached out and ran fingertips down the side of my face.

"Sam," I reprimanded him gently. He just smiled bigger, his tension finally beginning to dissipate. It felt good to see that smile on his face, one that reached his eyes. Not that that was any reason to encourage him. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" I groused.

"I do, actually. I have to get to work – I picked up a shift tonight. Call me if anything big happens."

He was still smiling as he left.


	8. Chapter 8

Kind of a short chapter this time; I promise I'll make it up to you all with the next one. Enjoy! (And let me know how it's going! Thank you so much those who are leaving regular reviews; I really appreciate it.)

* * *

Adam had apparently decided on a long run; I couldn't feel more than a vague sense of his existence as I changed out of my wet sweater and jeans, which meant he wasn't anywhere around the house. Like all the wolf bonds, our mate bond weakened with distance. Adam assured me that over time our bond would strengthen, and the distance required to make our sense of each other fuzzy would increase substantially, but for now if he wasn't within a few dozen yards of me all I could tell through the mate bond was that he was alive. I might be able to get more information out of the pack bonds, but I didn't feel like it. I prefer to keep my privacy intact as much as I can. So I sat down on the couch to watch some TV and wait for my husband.

At the third pharmaceutical commercial in ten minutes I decided there were better ways to wait and went outside instead. Adam's driveway looked like a rental car lot, although not so much as it did during pack meetings. Not Adam's driveway, _our_ driveway—my van and Rabbit were contributing to the congestion, although the parts car that helps me keep the Rabbit running was still in the field where it lived before I moved in, still decorated for the wedding as Jesse's welcome home present for me. Scott's rental car, which had yet to move after his frantic midnight parking job, sat beside Adam's SUV. From the looks of it there were a few more pack members about, but Ben's car was gone and so was Warren's; Warren must be getting some much deserved time at home before he had to show up for his next shift as night nurse.

I headed past the cars, toward the broad flow of the Columbia river. The moon was a waning crescent, not much good for light, but it would be enough to see by if I could get away from the porch lights. I was barely halfway down the driveway, though, when a figure stepped out from behind the SUV.

"Hey, Mercy."

Peter was as plain as his mate was beautiful, which is saying something. I've never gotten to know them well enough to figure out how they got together, but I know it's true love for both of them.

"Hey, Peter. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, thank you."

He didn't ask me how I was; the restlessness was apparent. He didn't ask me what I was doing wandering alone, either, at least not in words. We had a brief, nonverbal debate over what my husband would think of my activities. I'd lost it before it even began, but we had it anyway, on principle. Adam had given standing orders, and wherever I went, Peter would be my shadow. Not what I was looking for in a late night walk. I stayed and chatted for a few minutes, partly to show that I couldn't just be bossed around and partly because I like Peter and enjoy talking to him. When I said goodnight he watched until the door closed behind me before he began his patrol of the grounds again.

Scott was in the kitchen when I came in.

"I was beginning to be afraid you'd be stuck in the basement for good, but that's the second or third time you've used the stairs since you came," I teased him. "You're getting good at it."

"I finally figured out the trick," he rejoined with an impish smile. "It's all in the knees." He dropped into an impressive demonstration of the deep knee bends and kicks of traditional Cossack dancing. I laughed and applauded as he finished up with a forward flip that left him standing straight again.

"Nice. Don't break the furniture. Who's keeping an eye on Gena?"

"She's with tall, dark, and Einstein."

I choked back a laugh at his description of Darryl and sat back on the couch, tucking my feet up under me. "How is she doing?"

His whiskey-brown eyes lit at my question; I suddenly felt that if I was ever in a rifle sight, I would recognize the sensation. He studied my face, searching it as though there might be a map to Atlantis hidden under my eyebrows. There were questions lurking in that gaze, questions he wasn't going to ask but that he still wanted an answer for. He looked away from me as he took a seat on the other end of the couch, mostly veiling the intensity, but I could still see it glimmering at me from the corners of his eyes. "That's the question, isn't it? I'd ask her, if I could. I'm about ready to mount a search party, see if I can wander around her skull for a little while and find her, haul her out. She's gotta be in there somewhere."

"Not herself lately, huh?"

His laugh was a short, sharp bark. "You know how you could find out what scared her most, back in Los Alamos? It was whatever she was running straight towards. Turns out monsters don't scare you anymore once you've disemboweled 'em. The more scared she was to do something, the sooner she'd take it on. I've-" He stopped, bit his thumb, shook his head. "I've never seen her like she is now. Flat, you know? Gone, like there's nobody home. Even when there's enough of her around that you can tell she's afraid, she's tryin' to check out. I've never seen her run away, not like this."

"Did she have another panic attack today?"

He nodded. "Two. Once when Doctor McDominant tried to feed her, and once when Adam tried again to find out what happened. Whatever it was, she seems determined to take it—" he bit off the sentence before 'to her grave' could come out, but we both heard it anyway, and neither of us believed she'd have to hold her secrets long to get them there. Not at the rate she was going. "Hey," he brightened, turning to me, "doesn't the Marrok have some skills? Some mind reading voodoo crap? Maybe he could help out. Do his thing, figure out what's eating her. You two are tight, yeah? Think you could ask him?"

A lot of wolves believe that Bran has psychic powers, and it's true—to an extent. The Marrok can speak into the mind of another wolf, and he knows who's calling him even without caller ID. He swears, though, that it doesn't work the other way; no reading people's thoughts. Most of the time I believe him. "I don't know that his ability is… specific enough to do that." The reputation Bran has is one of his most important tools for controlling the wolves he leads; I wasn't about to tear that reputation down if I could help it. "I think we're just going to have to wait until she's ready to talk to us. She was really happy to see you; I thought you might have an easier time than the rest of us drawing her out."

"I don't know what to tell you; despite my considerable native charm, the lady remains reticent." And hungry. If she didn't start eating soon, she would take all decisions about her fate out of our hands. It's possible for a strong wolf to starve him- (or her-) self to death; it's a dangerous and unpleasant way to go, and it usually means the wolf in question is at least a touch insane.

Scott stared at a painting on the wall, eyes unseeing, fingers drumming across his knees. His nonchalant façade did nothing to conceal the scent of fear that clung to him beneath the hint of exotic cologne he wore. "What do _you_ do," I asked him, abruptly curious, "when _you're_ afraid?"

"Me?" he replied, his eyebrows climbing. "I get a new accent." He pushed himself to his feet, bounced a bit, then took two hesitant strides before he stopped and bounced a little more—lightly on the balls of his feet, like he was getting ready to fight. Or to run. I couldn't tell which one he wanted to do , and I was ready to bet he couldn't either.

"I think we made progress," I told him in an impulsive gesture of comfort. "With the shower."

His head whipped around. "Did she talk to you?" he asked eagerly, apparently unperturbed that I might have been holding out on him until now.

"No. She didn't tell me anything. But she cried. It's a step towards dealing with whatever happened to her. She could have stayed wolf and avoided feeling the emotion, but she didn't."

The sorrow in his face tugged sharply at me, demanding a response, just as his true smile had. "Cried, and I'm supposed to be glad for it. She used to smile. When she was little, five or six, I could make her laugh till she could barely breathe. She'd turn all red, and kick her feet… she had the funniest laugh." He raised a hand to his neck and ruffled the short hair at the back of his head. "Right, well, I'm going to get something to eat and go back down. If I'm very quiet, I might be able to catch Mr. Dignity reading bedtime stories. Once, in Los Alamos, I heard him do Cinderella, complete with voices." His eyebrows flashed upward in amused emphasis, and then he was gone. I heard the refrigerator door open.

I was tempted to sneak downstairs myself and see if I could catch Darryl in mid-story. Reading to a sick friend, especially one he thought of as a child, was the sort of thing he would do; Darryl was actually a kind, thoughtful man, when no one was watching and he didn't think he had something to prove. He had a nice voice, too. He probably read very well…

The more I thought about it the more I realized this was something I had to hear.

I slunk down the stairs in a state as close to perfect silence as a living human can get, hugging the wall to keep myself out of view. Darryl's sonorous voice did indeed reach me as I made my way down, in the cadenced, unhesitating tones of a man who does not expect his conversational partner to converse. There was a little extra rhythm, a hint of music, in the reading… Kipling, The Cat Who Walked By Himself. An excellent choice, playful and soothing without being juvenile. I grinned. Scott would be so disappointed.

I scooted a little farther down the stairs and realized that I was not Darryl's only extra listener. Jesse lay on the bed in the safe room, cushioning Gena's head on her stomach. Both girls had their eyes closed, and wore little smiles that broadened as Darryl's oration demanded. I ought to have been nervous seeing Jesse so close to a wolf with demonstrated control issues, but I wasn't. They looked so peaceful. The whole scene was warm and calm, and Gena needed as much of that as she could get.

Darryl looked up as I padded past him and settled on the couch, but he didn't quit reading. A few minutes later the stairs creaked slightly, and Scott came around the corner, carrying something fuzzy that was making a sound like two strips of Velcro being endlessly separated.

"You appear to have a vermin problem," Scott whispered as he sat down beside me. "I found this upstairs." He scratched my manx cat, Medea, under the chin and the Velcro sound swelled with her contentment.

My cat is something of an oddity. Unlike dogs, cats don't like werewolves and avoid them assiduously. Medea is the only exception I've ever encountered. She's fond of anything that will pet her, or might pet her in the future. She likes me even though I'm a coyote; Stefan, even though he's a vampire; Adam, Warren, and Samuel despite the fact that they're werewolves… she's willing to give everyone an equal opportunity to feed and adore her. Since I moved she's taken to splitting her time between the big house and my old trailer. I let Samuel feed her, though; I figure it's good for him to have something to take care of.

Darryl glared at Scott for the whispered interruption, but he didn't let his cadence falter. I listened happily, occasionally reaching out to scratch the ears of the cat who most definitely did not walk by herself. When he'd finished the first story Darryl moved immediately to a second; the one about the butterfly who stamped, a cautionary tale for quarrelsome wives. He put a little extra emphasis on it, enough that Jesse opened her eyes curiously. When she saw me she gave an understanding smile and waved. We shared a knowing look at Darryl before we settled back into contented listening.

It was plain after the second story that Gena was fast asleep; Jesse slipped out from under her and left the safe room, gently closing and locking the door. Scott was stretched out on the couch, Medea asleep on his chest. I nodded to Darryl and followed Jesse upstairs.

"Dad's still not home?" she asked as we ascended.

"Not yet. Want to wait with me?"

She did. I thought about waiting in the living room, but it was a nice night for November. Instead I went upstairs and snagged a blanket from her room. We settled on the porch, sharing the blanket and talking about school. Jesse is a surprisingly well adjusted young woman, considering that her mother has become a floozy and her father is a horror movie monster with monster friends. She knows how to handle herself around the wolves and she knows how to take the challenge in front of her and make it work out right. Even when she'd been kidnapped she'd kept it together and helped me get her and her father free. The kidnapping was on my mind—we were coming up on the anniversary of her abduction, and those kinds of anniversaries can be rough.

She didn't blow me off when I brought the conversation around to that experience. Instead, she took my hand and laid her head on my shoulder. "I'm okay. I've thought about it a little more lately, had a couple bad dreams, but not too much. You and Dad both came for me. If anything like that happened again, you would both come again, and you'd bring the whole pack on your heels. I know how to take care of myself better now than I did last year, and next year I'll be better than I am now." She looked up at me and smiled. "It wasn't fun, but I'm over it. I've had good examples for getting on with life."

I put a hand over hers and patted, grateful that I'd managed to handle my own troubles in a way my daughter could safely model. I hadn't been thinking about that aspect of it; I'd just been trying to take back my own life. I wondered what else she was looking to me to teach her—this parenting thing was scary.

"Your dad's coming back," I told her. "Before he gets here I wanted to remind you that it's not a good idea for you and Gabriel—"

"To do anything that will incite bloodshed? Don't worry, I remember. I had a nice little talk with Gabriel's mom just last week, about how wonderful her son is and how sad it would be if anything happened that prevented him from going to college. That would have dissuaded me, even if I'd been dead set on seducing him. I think I'd rather face Dad, although it would be a tough call. She can be scary when she wants."

The sense of Adam that had been steadily growing bloomed into full awareness, and I stood, tugging Jesse to her feet so that the blanket stayed snug around us, blocking out the winter chill. "Well, I'm here if you want to talk about anything," I told her. "And here comes Adam. Let's go say hi."

*****

Mary Jo was my official guardian on Tuesday, and it was a good thing since business picked up substantially and, unlike Honey, she knows how to handle tools. With her help I had almost everything finished by the time Adam came by to pick me up at five. He'd taken to dropping me off in the morning of late, ostensibly so that we could spend more time together. I suspected that the real reason was to stretch his time as my bodyguard so that there wouldn't be any gaps in my protection. If he didn't calm down soon I was going to have to take action.

He looked tired as he opened the door and helped me into the SUV, although he hid it well. "Long day?" I inquired sympathetically as he pulled out of my shop's parking lot.

"Work wasn't bad. I'm more worried about what's going on at home."

"Have you had any news?"

He nodded glumly. "Samuel tried the sedative this morning. It's not going to work out."

That was bad news. "Why not?"

"She went under alright, and he was able to tube feed her for a few hours, but she came out of it like I did. He doesn't think the benefit is worth it. Giving her enough to save her life would kill her." Adam had come out of it, the night that men had come to steal his daughter, murderously enraged. They'd had to empty a couple more tranq guns into him to keep him from killing everyone, and even that had been only partially successful. I'd been worried that the silver he was dosed with would kill him; it almost had.

"I wish I knew how to help her."

"She's going to be well enough to travel soon."

And then she would have to go Los Alamos, whether he defense was prepared or not. As things stood now, her first move would probably be to start slaughtering werewolves, at which point she would have to be killed. If we didn't get her to New Mexico in the next week or two, she might manage to kill herself before we had to do it; her bones were jutting dangerously beneath her skin already. We were almost out of time.


	9. Chapter 9

I'm putting this one up a little early, as an apology for last week's short chapter. Thanks for being patient! And thank you for the reviews, they are much appreciated. I love hearing from you all. Please keep commenting!

Enjoy.

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I put the broom and dustpan away with a sigh, wishing that the dishes hadn't been quite so easy to do tonight. Adam, reviewing billing statements at the kitchen table, caught the sound even with the dishwasher running.

"What's the matter? Not enough work for you?"

"The dishes were a means to an end. Now that they're finished, I have no more excuses for postponing the Thanksgiving call."

Adam laughed at me; so much for sympathy. "They're your family, Mercy. It won't be that bad. Besides, calling them keeps them at a safe distance."

I love my family, really I do. My life is much easier, though, if I go to them rather than the other way round and if I keep those visits short and sweet. Their lives are very safe and very normal; mine is neither. And while they make every effort to welcome me, the truth is I was never part of their day-to-day lives. I inhabit a different world.

"Your daughter may end up at that same safe distance; Mom has been pestering me for a visit with her granddaughter for months now." My mom had some reservations about me marrying a divorced man with a teenage daughter, but once the decision was made she adopted Jesse as completely as I did. Family is family, and my mom is one of the most loyal people I know. It didn't hurt any that Jesse is intelligent, sweet, and generally adorable.

"She can't have her; not for a while, anyway. I already have to give her up for Christmas." He pulled a face; neither of us was excited about sending Jesse back to her Mom for the winter holidays. "Maybe we can work out a visit over the summer."

"My new nephew or niece should be putting an appearance about then—that would be a good time."

"That's right -- how is your sister doing?"

"Fine, so far; I'm sure I'll get all the details in a minute. Mom's always full of news."

"Oh," Jesse asked, descending the stairs with her math book in hand, "are you calling Grandma Margi? I want to talk to her when you're done."

So I called my Mom and was plunged into a torrent of information. Nan wasn't feeling great, but her excitement over the baby was balancing out the morning sickness so far; I got the complete update on the nursery design and fended off an offer to schedule the baby shower around my potential travel schedule. After Nan there was the rest of the family to talk about, and then the wolves to update her on—since my Mom has never let supernatural or geographical obstacles keep her from being a pretty hands-on parent, she knows several of my furrier friends. I parried her Christmas invitation with the offer of a summer visit, which led naturally back to Nan and not-so-subtle teasing about how nice it would be for the baby to have a cousin of similar age. I felt justified handing the phone over to Jesse at that point, despite the fact that I hadn't quite gotten around to telling her about our adventure over the weekend.

I gave Jesse a warning look to make sure that she wouldn't remember it either before I beat a dignified but expeditious retreat to the basement. I could hear Adam laughing at me the whole way. I took comfort from the fact that he wasn't nearly so complacent when he was the one she was interrogating. My Mom may look like Marilyn Monroe, but there is a sharp mind under those perfect blonde waves. She would have made a good cop.

Warren was already on duty downstairs. Gena, in her smaller wolf form, was pacing inside the cell, back and forth, back and forth in front of the bars. On my side her movements were precisely mirrored by a black-brindled wolf who was on the small side for our pack, although he looked plenty big right next to Gena like that. A wolf with apple green eyes.

"It's been a long day," Warren observed from the recliner. Scott stopped pacing and looked at me, cocking his head and giving his tail a half-hearted wag.

"You look like you could burn off some energy," I told him. "I'll stay here with her if you want to go for a run."

He sat and considered it for a moment before he dropped his head to his paws, turning a little so that he could look into the cell where Gena still paced.

"No good, hmm? Well… if you'd like to stay a little closer, Adam has a dojo set up in the garage. I bet he'd even spar with you." Adam's pack trained regularly, an unusual arrangement that had paid off big time for pack discipline and cooperation. I doubted he'd waited until he moved to Washington to initiate the policy. I hoped Scott remembered what he'd been taught back in the Los Alamos pack; he was in for some bruises otherwise.

Scott looked back at me and raised his eyebrows, his dark fur puckering in a way that would have made him look sweet and friendly if not for his enormous teeth. "It's right upstairs; you can be here in thirty seconds if you need to be," I assured him. I wanted him to go; he clearly needed the outlet.

He ducked his head again, looking at me this time, and wagged his tail. Good. With that settled, I turned to talk to Warren and was nearly bowled over as Scott gave a friendly bump against my hip on his way up the stairs. "Oof. You're welcome," I called after him. "Take your time." I mumbled the last part but he heard me; I could tell by the laughing yip as he rounded the top of the stairs.

Warren was laughing, too. I didn't grudge him the humor at my expense; he looked like he needed something to smile about. "You're here again? Any more of this and Kyle is going to have to move in here." Kyle, Warren's boyfriend, was a super divorce attorney, with the big showy house to match his big showy reputation. When Warren didn't want to move into that house, Kyle spent all his time at Warren's cramped half-duplex instead. Where Warren was, Kyle would follow.

"Actually, he's out of town for the holiday. Won't be back until next week."

"Without you?"

"His brother invited him for Thanksgiving."

"Wow." I didn't know much about Kyle's family, except that the rift when he finally confronted them about his sexuality was profound. The only relative I'd ever heard him mention by name was his sister Ally; I think that's because she's the only one he's spoken to since that argument. "That's a big step. I still wouldn't have thought he'd go without you, though." Warren will ignore or avoid those who disapprove of him; Kyle, on the other hand, prefers a more aggressive approach. If he reconciled with his family, it would be on his own terms, and those terms would include Warren in a big way.

"He didn't want to. I was technically invited, thanks to Ally's intervention, I think. Our visits there have gone very well, all things considered. But it's the first contact he's had with any other member of his family in years; it's going to be plenty awkward without me there to complicate things. If it goes well, there'll be other opportunities for me to meet everyone. I wanted to help it go well."

It was a logical argument, and Kyle must have thought so too or he'd have never agreed. "It must be hard, not being there to help him face everyone. Even for Kyle that's going to be a big job."

Warren's worry was plain, despite his bantering tone of voice. "Kyle does helpless about as well as you do, Mercy. He'll work it out. He calls me," he added softly.

"That's good. If he has time, I'd like to know how it goes."

Warren nodded and stretched, trying to dispel the tension. "It's nice to have something to do in the mean time. Babysitting's not a bad gig. The pay is good, and she hasn't been much trouble until today."

I was glad to hear Adam was paying Warren. He was putting in significant time on the pack's behalf, and I knew he could use the income. Kyle may be rich, but Warren isn't. "So what went wrong today?"

The answer was plain in the way he looked at me, the way he hesitated just a touch before he spoke. He expected her trouble to have weight for me, which meant that my fears were being realized.

"She's been awake more today than she has been before. I expect that's part of it. The silver in the tranquilizer certainly didn't help any either. She's been pretty anxious."

Panic attacks. That's why she was still in the cage despite the fact that she was recovered enough to pace. She could lose control at any time, and an out of control wolf killed people. But the cage was clearly not contributing to her peace of mind. The shackle marks, much improved but still visible under her fur, testified to the reason for her agitation. I hadn't done so hot confronted by reminders of my ordeal a week after the fact either.

Not a week. A month. Gena spent three weeks walking across the country alone. Had she been in control then? Was anyone searching for bodies along her route? Adam would have thought of it. I wasn't so sure he'd tell me if they found some, though; not if I didn't ask directly.

There had to be a better way to handle her. Someone needed to find it.

"Gena? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

She stopped pacing and looked at me, her posture screaming distress. This would be easier if I could be sure it was her human side in control. What was the phrase Adam used? "Speak with me, please."

She rippled, and a young woman knelt on the floor where the wolf had been. She rose stiffly to her feet and gave me a smile that was more about protocol than emotion. "Mercy, good evening."

She had to look up a bit to meet my eyes – she was only 5'2" or so. She held my gaze for a few long seconds before calmly, demurely lowering her eyes. It wasn't a show of defiance or a dominance battle, it was more a message. She was submitting out of respect, not out of weakness. She wanted me to know that despite her emaciated body she was strong. Apparently she also wanted me to know that she liked me. It was a nice thing to know; it might help me out. I wasn't sure yet what I was going to do, but she was probably going to have to trust me for whatever it was to work.

"I wasn't sure if anyone has been talking to you about what's going on."

She shook her head; the motion made her wobble a little. The wolf body has an easier time shaking off pain and weariness than the human one does. "No one's said much. Is something up?"

I sat, leaning against the couch and stretching slowly. Gena, whose injuries kept her wolf close to the surface, sank almost in unison. I might not be the alpha female for her pack, but being an alpha female was enough, especially to get her to do something she wanted to do anyway.

"Just you, and you seem to be doing much better. But it's been a long time since you've seen your old pack mates. I thought you might want to know how everyone is doing."

She asked me about Jesse first, and I was happy to fill her in on life in the Hauptmann household, especially since it sounded like Jesse, at least, had already begun the tale. The subject seemed to suit her. After a few minutes she was smiling, and by the time I finished describing my wedding I felt like I was out for cocoa with an old friend, except for the silver bars between us. I certainly didn't feel like I was talking to an unstable killer.

Warren joined the conversation when it turned to the other members of the pack; I know all of Adam's wolves by scent and by sight, but that's about it. Warren could tell her about jobs and families and the major things people miss over the course of a decade or so apart. I was pleased to note that she was not just polite to Warren, but actively friendly. When we were finished giving out information, I decided it might be time to get some of my own.

"So, Adam mentioned that you were adopted young by his pack. I was raised by a pack, too. I have contact with my Mom's family, but I know next to nothing about my Dad's. I've always wished that I could find them." I had questions. So many questions. "Are you in touch with your birth parents at all?"

She shook her head, her eyes focusing on some infinite distance. "No. I know they're alive, and I can give my genealogy for the last four generations thanks to Adam and Jonah, but they think I'm dead and I haven't done anything to change that. Chris says—"

She stopped dead, and the smell of her emotions fluctuated wildly. When she looked back to me her eyes had turned cold and dark. "A friend of mine has encouraged me to connect with them. But there was no real urgency about it until Jonah died. The pack was always my family." Warren was moving, responding to the change in her scent and in her face, positioning himself where he could defend me in a hurry if the need arose. She noticed him, but made no move. "Have you talked to the Los Alamos pack? They must be frantic by now."

"We had a difficult time connecting with them, but yes. They're very anxious to have you returned."

"I should get back to them as soon as possible." It was truth. I could tell that, despite the polite exclusions in our conversation, she knew precisely what they wanted her back for, and was having none of it. Unless someone stronger intervened, she would be exacting a bloody revenge on someone or everyone in her old pack. But revenge for what?

"Who is Chris?"

Pain, fury, regret, despair—whoever Chris was, he or she sat much closer to the heart of recent events than we'd been able to get so far. Gena reached out and grabbed a blanket, near her on the floor of the cell, and wrapped it around her, shielding her body language and smothering the scent of her emotions, but it was not a complete disguise. The feeling of magic prickled against my skin; she was very, very close to another involuntary shift.

She opened her mouth to say something, but before she answered me, Medea slid between the bars, into the cage.

I made a move to snatch her back, out of range of the starving, injured, angry predator she was attempting to snuggle, but Warren put a restraining hand on my arm. He was probably right—charging Gena would only aggravate the situation. But I love my cat.

Medea, unconcerned with her perilous position, dove against Gena's shins and then took a few steps away, waiting to be noticed and adored. Between one blink and the next, a curious woman replaced the angry wolf. Gena took a deep breath, held it, let it out in a slow, even stream. She held out one tentative hand; Medea sniffed it with mild interest, rubbed her head against the proffered fingers, then looked up and mewed. Startled, Gena withdrew her hand and Medea followed it, padding onto Gena's lap and issuing another demanding mew. Slowly, almost reverently, Gena reached out again and touched fingers to Medea's fur, running them softly along the cat's head and back. After a few gentle strokes Medea arched into the touch and began to thrum.

Gena looked up at me, eyes wide and green, our previous conversation entirely forgotten. "Purring," she announced. "That's purring!" She turned her attention back to Medea, who leaned into the petting so hard she fell over. The purr continued unabated. "The cat is purring," Gena observed again, her voice low with wonder.

"Will you look at that," Warren chuckled quietly. "Love at first sight. And it's mutual."

_Not quite five… _I'd forgotten that Gena had lived her whole life as a werewolf. She'd probably never touched a cat. Medea has a way of making friends; that purr can be very hard to resist. In only a few seconds she had clearly conquered Gena, who was diligently petting with a rapt devotion to rival any toddler offered an acquaintance with something warm and fuzzy and alive. All her defenses were wiped away under the magical force of my cat's approbation.

I thought for a moment about the cat and the steak and the first few days after I'd been attacked. "You know," I told Warren, "I think we may have been going about this the wrong way."

*****

Half an hour later Medea was still shamelessly coaxing affection from our invalid, and I was ready to implement the next phase of my brilliant plan. I'd sent Jesse in to join Warren as my advance guard, to talk about soothing things and tell funny stories, and they were doing their job admirably. From where I hovered on the basement stairs the conversation sounded relaxed and cheerful.

I adjusted the phone at my ear slightly. "Alright, Gabriel, she's here. I'll get her for you." I covered the mouthpiece with my thumb, so that I wouldn't be yelling in Gabriel's ear. "Jesse, phone!" I called. I heard her excuse herself from the conversation, and then her slightly bewildered face appeared between the bars and she let herself out of the safe room, cell phone in hand.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Gabriel," I told her truthfully. I didn't mention that I had called him; she'd find that out soon enough. I just needed him to keep her distracted until I knew how well my plan was going to work. I didn't mind taking the risk myself, not with Adam's power to draw on and Warren to protect me, but Jesse was another matter entirely. Gabriel had been game as soon as I explained what was happening; I could rely on him to do his part. I handed Jesse the phone and continued down the stairs as she, true to form, retreated in search of privacy for her conversation.

As I entered the safe room Medea looked up and mewed eagerly. That had less to do with me and more to do with the contents of the plate I was carrying. I handed Gena a tuna sandwich.

"She can have some," I told her, handing her a saucer as well, "but give it to her on that. Don't let her eat off yours, it will teach her bad manners." As Gena scooped some of the filling from the purposefully overstuffed sandwich I handed one to Warren and took one for myself. Medea approached the saucer, making urgent, enthusiastic 'mrrp' noises as she tried to purr and beg at the same time. Gena laughed and laid her fingerful of tuna on the plate. Medea set to with a will.

"She prefers not to be touched while she's eating; you might take her kill," I chuckled. "Don't worry, though, as soon as she's finished she'll be demanding attention again."

Gena nodded, scooping another helping of tuna onto the plate for Medea. Absently, she took a bite of the sandwich in her hand, then another. No panic.

Warren and I both melted with carefully concealed relief.

With Medea as a distraction, we managed to get six sandwiches down her. It was much less than she needed, but it was a vast improvement over the nothing she'd had since Saturday. And now I had a strategy.

"Nicely done, Mercy." Warren congratulated me with a kiss on the cheek as we locked the safe room door, leaving Gena and Medea curled up and slumbering together. Gena had shifted back to her smaller wolf form, but Medea, settled squarely across her neck and shoulders, didn't seem to mind.

"She just needed something else to think about; I can relate. I'll tell Adam about our talk, maybe he can give me a little more insight now that we have another name. I expect it will be easier to feed her from here on out, too. If Samuel comes by after his shift, will you let him know?"

"Sure thing. Go get some sleep."

I passed Scott, freshly showered and dressed, on my way through the kitchen. "Warren has some good news for you," I told him, and he was off like a jackrabbit.

Adam was back at the table, finishing up with the billing statements. "Good news?" he asked curiously.

I pulled out a chair and sat down. "Gena and I have just been having a chat," I told him. "Tell me what you think."

Adam's a good listener. He doesn't interrupt, although since we've been mated he can't really help but let me know what he's thinking.

"There was a missing persons report for a Christopher Ramos who disappeared about the same time as Bains," he said when I'd finished my account. "It might be him. I'll have Ben see what else he can find."

"They told the police Trent was missing?" I knew there had been a report filed on Gena; officially she'd been missing for a month and a half. It hadn't been filed by anyone connected with the pack. I suspected that was because, for those first few weeks at least, her pack knew where she was.

"That will probably be the last anyone hears of him. The second assured Bran that his body would never be found."

I pay my taxes, I don't litter, I tell the truth, and I'm generally fond of law enforcement, but this was an instance where a strict application of law would be a bad idea. The werewolves might be out now, officially acknowledged as existing, but the rules for their interaction with the rest of society were still sketchy. Subjecting the wolves to, for example, normal human laws regarding assault and murder would be the undoing of every pack in the US. I wondered how the ACLU would feel about defending the wolves' rights to dominance fights and alpha-run court-martials. If humans and wolves were to live safely side by side, the wolves needed to govern themselves. Until Adam and Bran succeeded in working legislation to that effect through the governments of three nations, we would be keeping secrets.

"This whole situation just keeps getting messier and messier," I grumbled.

"You seem to be making better progress with it than anyone else. I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you figured out how to feed her."

"She's been through something terrible; I can relate to that. But she needs something to do, Adam. Now that she's well enough to do more than sleep she needs to do something productive." Work and a return to my normal routine had done more than almost anything else to help me handle Tim's aftermath. If I'd had to sit alone and brood, I'd have been insane inside two weeks.

"I'll take it under advisement. You think she's stable enough to be out and about?"

"Someone will need to keep an eye on her, but I think she'll be fine."

He nodded. "I'll see what I can do, then."

"So how was your sparring session?" Adam was still dressed in comfortable workout sweats—they didn't seem to have been used much. He smelled mildly of the dojo, of perspiration, and of himself. "You look like you're ready for another round."

"Scott hasn't been practicing his aikido." My mate favored me with a wolfish smile. "You interested in some exercise tonight?"

"Haven't you beat up enough people for one day?" I teased, picking up his hand and kissing his fingers one at a time.

"Guess I'll just have to go up and shower, then."

It was my turn to grin. "That you can count me in for."


	10. Chapter 10

Happy St. Patrick's Day! I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter posted, and for what I suspect will be a greater than usual number of typos; my word processor went into fits this week. Perhaps the Ides of March are at fault. Anyways, thank you for reading and thank you so much for the reviews. Thanks are due also to Shana Moore, my devoted beta reader, even though she likes to tease me when she thinks I'm being overly insecure. May she learn from all of you fine readers how to write a proper review. ;)

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When Jesse and I brought grapes and peanut butter toast to the basement for breakfast the next morning, Gena laughed and cleaned her plate. As if that wasn't enough good news for one morning, Adam came up behind me while I was rinsing the plate. "I was thinking," he said, resting his chin on my shoulder and wrapping one arm around my waist, "that we should have lunch together today."

"That sounds great to me. I assume you're driving?"

"Mmm-hmm. You can call me when you start getting hungry."

"And what about my babysitter for today? Should I make a reservation for three?"

He was quiet a moment; I felt his weight shift uneasily from foot to foot. "About that--"

Oh, no. This did not sound good.

"What about that?"

"Do you think you would feel safe enough just being dropped off and picked up? If you don't, I can assign--"

I cut him off with a laugh, turning in his arms so that I could watch his face. " 'Safe enough'? This was your idea in the first place, I'll have you remember. I've spent years getting through my workday without a babysitter. Did you finally realize that the rest of the pack has better things to do?"

He frowned. "I still need Warren for night duty, so he has to get some sleep. Honey is going to stay with Geneva, and anyone else would have to call in to work."

"Then I'm glad you have the sense to let me fend for myself." My mate's frown deepened. "That's what lunch is about it, isn't it? You want to check on me."

"I want to spend time with you," he replied firmly, kissing me. It was true, but I noticed that he didn't deny my deduction, either.

I was glad to see him at lunch, whatever the reason, and even happier when I fished the 'Closed for the Holiday' sign from its spot in the office and handed it to him to put in the window. I wasn't used to closing for more than a day at a time, but I also wasn't used to having more than Medea for company. It had been a long, long time since I looked forward to Thanksgiving like this.

Peter and Honey were sitting together on the living room couch when we got home, their heads close together and their voices so low that even my ears could only snatch a few words. Honey looked up and smiled at us a little shyly. Her eyes were red.

"How was your day?" I asked carefully. She wasn't angry; Honey's not the type to suffer in silence. But something was clearly going on.

"It was... nice," she answered softly. "We went with Samuel to the hospital and read in the children's wing, and then they let us volunteer in the nursery for a little while."

I'd never talked to Honey about kids; she'd certainly never mentioned wanting any. On the other hand, I knew Honey had some deep-seated resentments about being a wolf. Maybe the inability to have a child was one of them. It would explain the gentle, pensive look that seemed so out of place on Honey's perfect features.

"How did she do?" Adam didn't sound anxious-- it wouldn't do for an alpha to be anything but calm and in control. And it couldn't have gone too badly; if Gena had eaten anyone, we would have heard about it earlier.

Honey sniffed and shook herself, settling into her more usual demeanor. "Much better. It was a good idea, getting her out of the dungeon. There was only one bad spot, when we passed the surgery wing of the hospital, but we had no trouble keeping her under control. We got her some new clothes this morning, too, so you can take her out in public again."

"Did she eat?"

"Chicken salad and fruit in the park--we had a picnic. We almost didn't get back to the hospital; Samuel brought his violin and played while we ate, started a little impromptu concert. If it had been summer instead of winter he'd still be stuck there, slave of an appreciative audience. He said he'd come back tonight and play for her supper," Honey chuckled.

"Gena is downstairs asleep; Scott is sitting with her. If that's all you need, Honey and I will go home now," Peter offered diffidently.

We wished them a happy Thanksgiving and sent them on their way.

Jesse was unabashedly delighted to have finally made it to Thanksgiving break; her enthusiasm did a lot to lift the pall Honey's sorrow had left on my spirits. Without her, dinner would have been a very quiet meal. As it was I didn't chat much. When Jesse asked what was on my mind, I told her tomorrow's dinner, which was true-- in addition to out little family circle we'd be hosting Zee, my old boss, and his son Tad, who was my first tool monkey and office boy until he went away to college, our out of town guests, Samuel, Warren, and several of the wolves who were without somewhere else to go. It was going to be a houseful. Fortunately Adam's kitchen is sized to handle a feast of that size and all the help that we'd need to prepare it.

Adam, well aware that Thanksgiving dinner wasn't the only thing running circles in my brain, shooed me out of the kitchen as soon as the meal was over. "Go ahead, tell her. You may as well do it sooner as later, and she won't be able to stay here much longer. This may be your best chance. Send Scott up to me." Obediently I descended the basement stairs, trying the whole way to phrase 'lied to all your life' diplomatically, for my husband's sake. It didn't work.

I almost didn't recognize Gena. She was dressed in crisp dark jeans and a brick red sweater that hid her pink scars and sunken skin, and her color was better than it had been all week. She was curled up on the couch, her sleek hair spilling over Scott's lap, talking and watching TV with a genuine smile on her face. Medea was curled up on her knees, half asleep and purring. She looked human, really human, and happy. It made me want to wait a little longer to spring my revelation on her, but she'd been kept waiting long enough.

Both wolves greeted me cheerily.

"Can I offer you a chair?" Scott gestured theatrically towards the recliner. "The evening is young, we have a hundred and some odd channels to mock and a remote control to navigate by. A good time will be had by all." He rocked the remote between his fingers, raised eyebrows inviting me into the fun. "Jesse can come, too, but only if she brings popcorn."

"Actually, Adam asked me to send you upstairs for a minute," I told him.

"Anything serious?"

I shrugged. "He didn't say what he wanted."

Gena sat up to let Scott extricate himself, both of them careful not to discomfit Medea. That cat was getting seriously spoiled, I thought, leaning over to scratch her ears. She yawned and stretched, hopping down to sprawl on the floor. Scott laughed at her and gave her a hurried scratch at the base of her stub tail. "I'll be right back," he promised Gena, vaulting the couch and dashing upstairs. I picked up the remote and switched off the TV.

"You seem pretty relaxed," I observed as I sat down next to Gena. "Have a good day today?" She smelled like grass and baby powder and department store, all her day's adventures chronicled on her new clothes.

"I did," she affirmed serenely. "I played with small children, I snuggled babies, and I heard Samuel play his violin. He's amazing." Her languid body tensed a little. "You seem a little bit worried, though. Is something wrong?"

Fast and smooth, like ripping off a Band-Aid. That was the way to do this. "Well, yes, and it has to do with you. You've been, well, lied to all your life, and I think it's time someone told you."

"Lied to?" Gena looked confused. "By whom?"

"Your alphas."

To my surprise, Gena relaxed, her short, sturdy limbs going languid again. "I trust my alphas," she assured me.

My stomach clenched. "I know. That's what makes it so bad."

She shook her head. "Jonah and Adam loved me. They took care of me. They're the kind of men you can trust." She stretched and popped her neck in a gesture that was very Adam. "Adam sent you down here to tell me this? What did he say?"

"He didn't send me... he more allowed me to come. He knows its time you knew." For my sake, not for hers or even his, but that was beside the point. I skipped over it. "Look, I feel like I'm beating around the bush, so I'm going to get right down to it. You know that I'm not a wolf."

"You smell like coyote, but you're part of the pack. I remember... well, not much about our fight together. Everything was pretty fuzzy by then. From what I do remember, coyote is right. I wondered about it, but it didn't seem polite to ask."

"I'm a walker. It's a kind of shapeshifter, too, but the magic is native to this continent, not imported like werewolf magic."

Gena was sitting up straighter and pulling away, her features drawing together in consternation. "A skinwalker? You are?"

"_Not_ a skinwalker. Just a walker. They're different, although some idiot lumped us all together and now I'm stuck with the confusing name. Skinwalkers are evil; I'm not."

Her face cleared and she smiled at me. "I didn't think so."

"But I am a coyote."

She waited, bright face lifted expectantly to mine, and I shifted uneasily. This conversation was not going at all according to plan.

"That doesn't, I don't know, bother you?" I inquired.

"Bother me? Why?"

"Because I'm a coyote, not a wolf."

She cocked her head in confusion. "You're pack," she said simply. "Not my pack, but Adam's. He had to bring you in, to make it ok. It doesn't matter what you are, if you belong to the pack. It is cool, though. Does it hurt when you shift? You don't get big, I remember that."

"No, normal size. And no, it doesn't hurt," I replied, fighting off the unexpected lump that had congealed in my throat with her response. So this was what acceptance felt like. I'd sort of given up on ever feeling that from a wolf without sweating blood for it first.

Gena laid a hand on my knee. "Some of them have been snitty to you about it, haven't they? Warren says some of them are like that to him, too. I'm sorry. Wolves can be petty," she chuckled, "just like everyone else, I guess. You don't seem to be letting them get in your way. I'm glad, because Adam loves you. It's nice to see him so happy."

"Thanks. And thanks for being so rational about Warren. He's a great guy, and it's frustrating when people don't see that." I blinked at her for a moment, trying to get my bearings again. How had we ended up on Warren? If the conversation kept going like this we'd never get to what I wanted to say. "But that's not really the part of being a coyote that I wanted to talk to you about." Gena looked at me attentively, and I sighed. "Right, so coyote. I was an infant when it first showed up. It's hereditary, but my Dad was dead by then, and my Mom didn't know what to do. She brought me to her great uncle, who was a werewolf in the Marrok pack, to be raised."

It was clear from Gena's countenance that she'd never heard my story before. Her alphas had really gone out of their way to keep her in the dark-- my story was widely known not only among the wolves, but among the fae and even the vampires. Her ignorance rekindled my anger and, with it, my motivation. "I'm telling you all of this partly because it will help you understand about walkers and partly because you need to realize that Adam knew, long before he and I ever met, who and what I was. He knew about me when he met you."

"Ok," she acknowledged, no trace of apprehension in her voice or body. As far as she was concerned, no matter what Adam knew or did, he could do no wrong. How could he have misled someone who trusted him like that?

It might not be apprehension, but something was going on behind her eyes. They widened a little, and a slow smile lifted her cheeks. "The little wolf, that's what you're trying to tell me, isn't it? That's where I get my little wolf. Regular size, instant change, doesn't hurt... that's what Adam and Jonah knew."

"That's what they knew. No one told me, either, or you would have known long ago. I've always wanted to meet another walker; as far as I know, we're the last of our kind. The vampires killed off most of us a couple centuries ago. Not telling you what you were was, I think, a way of trying to protect you; they still don't like us much."

She didn't look angry. She didn't look upset. She unfolded herself from the couch, still grinning, and ran meditative fingertips along her body as if discovering it for the first time. "That is so cool. It's so nice to know what's different about me, to have a name for it. It's hereditary? I wonder who it comes from. Had to be someone on my Mom's side." Her fingertips explored her face, as though looking for the answer there.

"That's it?" It was difficult to maintain my righteous indignation on her behalf when she was nonchalant about having been kept in the dark. "You're not unhappy at all that no one has told you before now?"

"It's nice to know; it certainly answers some questions for me. But it's their job to protect me, and in the grand scheme of things it doesn't matter anyway." She shrugged. "Big wolf, little wolf… I'm a wolf either way."

After 30 years I finally meet another walker, and I'm still just a coyote among wolves.

For a moment there I had forgotten that Gena was a werewolf. It was a stupid thing to forget. While I had been fighting for my freedom to choose my own course on the fringes of a pack that would have happily killed me, Gena had been welcomed and at home, a part of the pack and its rules and its magic by right and instinct. While I had learned to hide and scheme, she had learned to attack head-on, to fight. We were both very good at what we'd learned to do, but there was a world of difference between us, and our shared status as the last members of a dying breed might not be enough to bridge it the way I'd hoped.

For a moment I was jealous. I'm happy with who and what I am; I love being a coyote, a mechanic, Adam's mate, Jesse's mom, Stephan's friend, Bran's… whatever I am to Bran. And Zee. And Samuel. I wouldn't trade any of that, or give it up. But it would have been nice, I thought wistfully, to have belonged a little earlier. Not to have to always watch my back.

"There are some other abilities, besides the shapeshifting, that you should probably know about. For one, walkers can see ghosts. You-" I forgot what I was going to say; as soon as I mentioned ghosts all the color drained from Gena's face. She turned to me, eyes wide, shoulders hunched… if she'd had a tail, it would have been bushy.

"What? Ghosts?"

"Yes. It's not something to be worried about. There aren't a lot of them around, and they're not dangerous. Well, most of them aren't. Generally they're shadows, memories of people who have lived. Sometimes there's not even anything to see, it's just a scent or a sound that lingers. Mostly they just follow the same pattern they did when they were living, moving about their lives until they dissipate."

"And the ones that don't do that?"

This was more sensitive information, but it was her heritage and she had a right to know. "Sometimes, when someone died a particularly violent death or when certain kinds of magic are involved, that can linger. That's part of the reason there are so few walkers left; the vampires hunted us because we could tell where their hiding places were, by the ghosts they generate there. But even those kind really aren't... you saw one, didn't you? You saw a ghost." One of the bad kind, the violent kind.

She turned away, staring at the floor and muttering. "It, it might have been. I didn't know. I thought he was a dream; I wasn't very lucid by then…"

It had taken me a while to figure out that not everyone could see the ghosts that talked to me, or even that the ghosts were ghosts and not human. By the time I realized what was happening, I'd been used to it. Gena's introduction, on the other hand, had clearly bothered her deeply. I laid a hand on her shoulder. "Gena, tell me what you saw."

"I didn't know," she repeated. "Was it him? I wouldn't have left him there… I thought it was just my brain, processing, using my dreams to tell me what I should have known."

"This was while you were in Los Alamos? Where were you?"

"At the alpha's." Her voice was small and bewildered.

"And the person that you saw, he was someone you knew?" Alpha's house, so... "A member of your pack?" She nodded. "Does this have something to do with what happened to you right before you came here? With _why_ you came here?" She nodded again. "Do you want to talk about it?" I prodded.

She looked at me again, resolution hardening in her face. "I do."

"Adam will want to hear. Can you wait for me to get him?"

I had barely reached the stairs when Adam appeared at the top. "Mercy?" he asked, coming two steps down the staircase. "Do you need something? I— Oh. I see." He took the rest of the stairs in two bounds and came to a stop beside me. He kissed me and took my hand, pulling me back to the siitting room and Gena. "Tell me all of it," he ordered calmly. "Start at the beginning." The mate bond can be very convenient sometimes.

Gena looked at him, probably contemplating how much "all of it" really meant. "You'll remember how Jonah died."

That was a long way back to start, but Adam just nodded. "The witch."

Gena dropped her head. "The witch. I hadn't heard about it. I was away at school, and the first thing I knew of it was when they started dying." She kept her head down, staring for a long moment at some invisible point on the baseboard before she continued. "We lost a third of the pack that night. I had to go back, even though Trent was the alpha.

"I told my teachers I had a family emergency. I left school. In two days I went to 7 funerals. And when I tried to go back to Albuquerque, he told me that I had to stay. He made me call, right there in his kitchen, and talk to the professors. He sent a couple wolves to clean out my apartment. He said he couldn't have me so far away with the pack so weak. It wasn't safe. He couldn't _defend_ me. It was for my sake it had to be this way." The way she said it, "made" meant alpha compulsion, the magical authority that Adam almost never used. It could make even the most unwilling pack member obey, but it couldn't make them like it afterward. Her bitterness was suppressed, even the smell buried under the lingering pain of putting Jonah and the others in the ground, but it was there.

"I dropped out, halfway through a very competitive doctoral program. I moved home, and went back to being a nanny."

She took a deep breath and was quiet again. Thinking about being a nanny, most likely. If she was thinking about kids she didn't have to think about the rest of her story, from her foster father's death to ending up in Adam's basement, beaten and bloody. I could feel her reluctance when she decided her respite had been long enough.

"It was little things at first, just a bunch of stupid orders he didn't have to give. He got mad at me for tiny, irrational things. I thought he was just being a miserable pig. I obeyed his orders and stayed out of his way. But then he started getting into mine."

It was strange to hear her speak so contemptuously of an alpha, even a bad one. Wolves are pretty hard core about loyalty. Of course, the only alphas I'd ever really seen in action were Adam and Bran, and their packs had reason to be loyal. I had begun to see how lucky I was that they were the ones I dealt with. Bran could be old fashioned and imperious, and Adam was overbearing and had temper to spare, but both men looked out for those who depended on them. They didn't abuse their authority, and they would never torment someone under their care.

I knew we were coming to the real meat of her story when she finally looked at Adam. "A few months ago, Trent said I couldn't work anymore. If anyone figured it out it would be too dangerous for us. No one would want a werewolf around children." I winced. That much, at least, was true, although it might have taken a long time for someone to spot her as a wolf. "Chris… Chris was my boyfriend. Fiancé, really, although he hadn't officially proposed. We knew we were going to get married. He was a good man, Adam," her voice cracked, and her eyes were suddenly moist, "a very good man. Trent said I couldn't see him anymore." She took another deep breath. This story was taking a lot of air. "We weren't mated; there was nothing I could do except obey. Trent was getting more and more vicious, and most of the rest of the pack was following his lead. They were almost impossible to ignore. I decided I'd had enough. I'd do what he said, because I couldn't risk anything happening to Chris. But after that, I was moving on. I didn't have anywhere to go, but I didn't have to give him the satisfaction… I was done following his stupid orders, done getting hit, done-- just done." As she paused, I had heard a soft growling rising from deep in Adam's chest, but he stood still, his face impassive, and let her continue. She was studying the baseboards again.

"I went to Chris. I told him… I told him we had to break up." She hunched inward, hugging herself and hiding her face. The muscles in Adam's arms clenched as he fought the urge to comfort her. I agreed; she had to get this story out, and we couldn't interrupt her. Gena shook her head. "I should have been more convincing," she whispered. "I could have. I could have made him believe… but I didn't want to. I wanted him to know that I loved him. I wanted him to know that it wasn't me. It's my fault."

I felt a sick flopping in my stomach; I could guess what happened next.

"Trent made me move in with him. I didn't want to, but I had to cooperate a little while longer, to make sure Chris was safe. I barely slept or ate for two days. The whole house felt awful, and I had terrible dreams, waking and sleeping, every time I was alone. Dreams about the night Jonah and the others died. I thought it was just stress, or my anger at Trent… I didn't know about walkers and ghosts then. It might be that… that Paul is still there. I think he is.

"On the third day Trent stormed into my room, told me it was time for me to stop sulking and think of the good of the pack. The pack, Adam, if you could see what he's done to your pack… He told me he was giving me to Derrick, his second. Derrick was loyal and deserved a reward. As though I were his to give. As though I would ever choose as mate someone who would claim me as a prize." Her lip curled in a contemptuous snarl. "I told him no, and he said I could do it or die. I told him he didn't have the stones to kill me, and he assured me he did, and that I wouldn't be the last: he wasn't going to let anyone cross him anymore. He meant it; I could smell the conviction on him, and the violence. And I started to wonder, where did all that confidence come from? He didn't have it when he ordered me around. What he had then was fear, even with the rest of the pack behind him. It was only about killing… Then I thought about the dreams. I thought that maybe I wouldn't be the first anymore than I'd be the last. I'd felt things, that night in Albuquerque, the night that Jonah died, that I hadn't been able to make sense of..."

"Jonah--" Adam whispered.

"He was at Jonah's back that night. Paul and Amar -- he didn't personally kill them, but he let them die. Stood back and watched. I didn't even like Paul, but I respected him. He was pack. It shouldn't have gone down like that. Paul saw Jonah kill the witch, Adam. She was dead and burning before Paul finally died. She wasn't the one who shot Jonah."

I glanced at Adam, to see how he was taking the news. His eyes were pale golden yellow and his knuckles were white.

"I was furious when I realized it. I flew at him, and I could have taken him, too, but half the pack lives with him and they jumped me. I woke up three days later chained with silver, in a cage." Her hand moved to her throat, where the shackle mark would still be visible under the high neck of her sweater.

That was it, all that Adam could take. With a roar he turned and punched the wall, taking out two studs and sending plaster flying. I did my utmost to be small and still. Adam was right on the edge, and unlike the last time he'd remodeled a wall I didn't think I could diffuse the situation with humor. Last time I hadn't wanted anyone to die; this time I wasn't so sure. He stood there for a moment, panting and staring at the hole he had created, blood dripping from his knuckles into the slowly settling plaster dust. The noise and the wave of power brought Scott and Warren at a run, but I shooed them back. They obeyed, although I'd bet my annual salary that they were lingering in the kitchen, just in case.

After a minute or so Adam turned around, his face and his breathing calm. His eyes, though, were still cold yellow, and he still smelled of rage.

"I apologize." His voice was tight, barely controlled. "Please continue."

Gena sank down on the couch. "There's only a little more," she whispered. "They kept me chained and caged for…" she shrugged, "probably a couple weeks. I kept having dreams- Paul would, would show me things. Every few days Trent would come down and bring me food and ask me if I was ready to behave. Told me my time was running out, I had to make up my mind. They never let me out, until the last time. Finally, the last time, he was happy. I wondered what would make him so excited, and I was afraid… I should have done it then. I should have made him kill me there.

"But I didn't." Her voice got stronger, got angry. "He told me it was my last chance, that without some remorse on my part he couldn't overlook my sin. I had no idea what he was talking about. He told me I'd been talking about the pack."

She looked up again, intense, sincere, her dark wolf eyes staring into Adam's yellow ones. "I never told him, Abba. I loved him, but I never said a word. I was waiting until after we got married. Trent knows it, too. He was lying to me, lying." She was starting to shake. I began backing unobtrusively toward the stairs, out of range.

"He looked at me and LIED TO MY FACE!" She jerked to her feet, waving arms punctuating the flood of words and rage forming an almost visible aura around her. "He smiled! He said that he was taking care of it, cleaning up after me, and he waved and Derrick brought something in that smelled like blood and it was Chris's _head_ and he LAUGHED--" she dropped back to the couch, wrapping her arms back around herself, consumed in shakes so bad that they were practically convulsions, and I realized that I was seeing trauma, not an involuntary change. I stopped moving. Adam sat down next to her and wound his arms around hers. "The next thing I remember I was in central Utah, coming to you," she whispered.

His voice was gentle, but I could hear the undercurrents of fury and hurt. "Gigi, why didn't you come to me sooner?"

She buried her face in his strong chest. "I didn't want to be a bother," came the muffled reply. "Paul said if you and Scott weren't tripping over me every time you took a step, you might not have moved away. He said a wolf is always alone." Adam growled and pulled her close, into his lap. "The worst of it I didn't know until it was too late." She lifted her head until she could nuzzle the side of his neck. He rested his cheek on her head. "Abba, I'm so tired. I'm so tired." Finally, she started to cry.

He rocked her, as he must have rocked Jesse when she was a little girl; as he must have rocked Geneva when she was little, if they had taken her in at four. I left him consoling her and went to find a quiet place to call Bran. I was only a few steps up the stairs when I ran into Samuel, hanging up his cell phone. "That was da," he told me. "He's sending Charles. He'll be here in a few hours, and then we can gather a group to go to New Mexico."

Charles, Samuel's younger brother. Charles, the Marrok's judge and executioner. Yep. Someone was going to die.


	11. Chapter 11

"No, Adam. Absolutely not."

My husband's eyes, still bronze, lightened a bit more as they flicked over Samuel's infuriatingly calm countenance. "Absolutely?" he asked, in a bland tone that was more dangerous than most people yelling. Scott flinched and hunkered down a little farther in his chair.

"Not my word, my father's. And I quote: 'Tell Adam that he is absolutely forbidden to be within 500 miles of Los Alamos until Charles returns to Montana. It is no longer his pack. It is my pack, and I will take care of it.'" Samuel held up his phone. "I can call him again if you need to hear the words from his mouth."

Adam's jaw tightened but he didn't take up the offer to discuss it with the Marrok. Just as well; a futile argument wouldn't have improved his mood any. Bran was right – if Adam took a hand in a situation so clearly out of his jurisdiction, it would be an invitation for other alphas to do the same. Bran would have no choice but to treat it as a challenge. Adam was staying put, along with everyone else who had been part of the pack in Los Alamos.

I, on the other hand, was going.

"I'll call you twice a day and let you know how it's going," I promised.

Samuel pursed his lips in an ineffectual attempt to stifle his smile; Warren raised a single brow, and Scott vacated his chair, the better to get safely out of range as Adam slowly turned his head and fixed me in his yellow eyes.

He didn't say anything; he didn't need to. For a while our argument was silent, all body language and intuition and the flow of wordless thoughts across the mate bond. As the standoff continued, however, I took the dispute verbal with my trump card. "This is it, Adam. This is my price. I'll respect the silence you kept if you respect my right to speech. Gena is the first walker I've ever met, and I want this time with her, especially if she might not end up back here afterwards. When we finish in Los Alamos, I'm going to try to convince her to see her parents. They might be able to tell both of us more about who we are than I've ever heard before." I stopped short of telling him that I was going no matter what, but it was a near thing. I settled for, "This is important to me. Very important."

Adam's voice was tight. "Who said Geneva is going?"

His question left me flabbergasted; it had never occurred to me that she might not be allowed to see her story through. "She's... she's a material witness! She has to go!"

"Material witness, hmm? That's true, but she's one who's already given her testimony. She's not needed for Charles to finish his investigation. I doubt she'll be needed for punishment, either; killing Bains appears to have been appropriate under the circumstances." Scott grunted an assent from the far side of the room, but kept quiet. Samuel was nodding.

I spluttered, rendered momentarily incoherent by what I was hearing. "I think," I tried, speaking slowly and rationally, "that it will be very important for her recovery for Gena to see as much as possible of what happens in Los Alamos. She needs the closure."

Samuel was trying to sound rational, too. "We can't predict how she'll react, Mercy. I think it's likely that she would completely lose control. She's already been sensitized to blood, and she's very, very angry with her pack. I don't know that she has the control to handle what will happen in Los Alamos."

He had a point, but it still didn't seem right. "So send someone with her." At that distance, I couldn't be the one to keep her in control; my power all came through Adam, and pack magic weakens with mileage. It would have to be someone dominant in themselves. "Charles will be otherwise occupied, but you or Warren would be alright. Is Anna coming?" Anna, Charles' mate, was an omega wolf. One of the omega's special talents is helping aggressive or unbalanced wolves stay calm; her presence could be a huge help to Gena.

"I don't know, but I doubt it. From what we've heard the whole pack may be rogue; that's not a situation Charles would judge safe for his mate." Samuel was looking at me with pitying eyes; it was making me nervous. "She needs to go to my father as soon as possible, Mercy. She needs the support of a strong pack."

Adam frowned. "I intended to keep her here. This pack is familiar to her, and we have practice with panic."

"She's only dealing with the surface level of her experience so far; it could very well get much worse before it gets better. And you'd have to wait until Los Alamos officially gets its new alpha for her to be released. It might even require her to go down there. With her old pack in the state it is, only my father can manipulate the bonds to bring her in early or at a distance."

"She couldn't join the Marrok's pack before Los Alamos is settled anyway; you won't be able to get her there," Adam objected.

"Charles is efficient; she could be in her new pack by Saturday night, without setting foot in New Mexico."

"Now, now," Scott interjected, holding up placating hands. "I'm sure we can work this out to everyone's satisfaction. She can spend weekdays and Christmas in Montana, but weekends and New Year's are Adam's. For Spring Break and Arbor Day I'll take custody. See? Everyone gets a turn. You don't have to fight." He turned to me, shaking his head. "These custody battles can get so spiteful.":

Samuel and Adam subsided, but it was already clear who would win that particular argument. Gena was going to Montana.

An uneasy silence settled on the table; after a minute or so of grumpy staring, Scott sighed and straightened up from his slouch against the wall. "I'm going to go check on the runt."

The telling of her story had exhausted Gena; we'd left her curled up in the basement as a timber wolf and called Ben to keep an eye on her while we talked. I couldn't tell if Ben actually made Scott uneasy or if they were still playing dominance games, trying to decide just who outranked whom. Maybe he just didn't want to leave her with a stranger while she was so upset.

Whatever his reason for going, he paused at the head of the stairs. "She's biding her time," he told Adam soberly. "As soon as she thinks she can make it to Los Alamos, she's gone, with or without your permission. You can take her to Montana, or you can keep her in your basement for 10 years, and the first thing she'll do when she gets the chance is bolt. Gigi is calm by nature; Gigi is happy. Because of that I don't think any of you realize how angry she is. You think you can ground her and she'll forgive you, forget about it. She won't. She will see this through, or she will kill herself trying." He descended the first two stairs and paused again, turning to look back over his shoulder. "By the way, I'm going with Charles." He disappeared into the basement.

Warren looked at Adam, who was still staring at the spot Scott had occupied. "Do you really think she'd make that much trouble over it, boss?"

"He knows her better than anyone else alive. I can't say for sure, but if Scott says so then it's likely."

I scooted back my chair, abandoning my seat in favor of pacing while I tried to get some distance on the problem. This was not going the way it should. "Let's say she does go to Montana," I offered, thinking out loud. "Would that be the end of the world? She'd have a strong pack, who can control the panic attacks..." And that's really all. No friends, no one she knew. No job; Aspen Creek is not exactly a thriving center of commerce, and the citizens there know far too much about werewolves to put an unstable one within 100 yards of a child, so nannying would be out. Proximity to Anna, the omega, would help her, but she'd also be in regular contact with Charles, the one who took her revenge without her. On top of that she'd have to deal with Leah, Bran's mate... Leah wouldn't like her. If my experience was anything to go by, and I guessed that in this case it was, none of the women in the pack would be happy about Gena, wolf or no. Top that with Scott's assertion that she would be unwilling to let bygones be bygones... the Marrok pack presented way too many opportunities for 'kill herself trying'. "Hmm. Sorry, Samuel, but it doesn't look good." Warren brushed a comforting hand across my arm as I passed his chair; I squeezed his arm and kept walking.

"So what if, _hypothetically,_ she went with Charles? Under control, taking no action unless it was authorized... she's already involved, I don't think anyone could object to _her_ taking part in the housecleaning."

"Not as long as it was clearly under Da's authority, but Mercy, I really don't think she has that much control."

"Assume she did. We're still working hypothetically here. She goes, she gets her closure, doesn't get forced into a corner. She'll be close enough to her pack that the bonds can be dissolved and she can be transferred. We can pacify the local authorities about her disappearance, maybe before they find out she's a werewolf, thereby avoiding bad publicity."

"And you can haul her out to wherever her parents are living and start exploring walker genealogy. It's a better plan but it's just not possible."

"I might... I might have an idea about that." There was a thought blooming in the back of my mind, one that had been quietly growing since Samuel had mentioned that Gena was 'sensitized to blood'. It was one of those ideas that you don't want to look directly at before its ready, lest you scare it away, but it had grown now to the point that I almost couldn't see anything else.

_Stefan_. I needed to call Stefan.

Samuel and Warren were watching me with expectant eyes, but it was Adam, forewarned by our bond, who spoke.

"No. Mercy, it's a bad idea."

"We can trust him, Adam. I think he'd be able to help her."

Stefan is a vampire, and vampires are not, as a rule, trustworthy. Stefan, however, doesn't really fit many vampire rules. Most vampires would consider it beneath them to enjoy Scooby Doo, but not Stefan. It's a passion of his; his vanagon is even painted up like the Mystery Machine. Stefan speaks ASL, another non sequitur for a vampire, and he dresses in jeans and T-shirts despite being several centuries old. More important than his taste in fashion or entertainment, however, is his sense of honor; Stefan has more real character than most of the humans I've met, and probably more than the rest of the vampire population combined. He wouldn't hurt Gena, and he wouldn't betray us.

"Stefan is part of the seethe again," Adam argued, "subject to its Mistress. We might be able to trust him, but we certainly cannot trust her. She has a taste for werewolf."

"Stefan can protect her physically from Marsillia, and Gena doesn't have any power to abuse. She's not an alpha's mate; she doesn't even have a pack."

"Not right now, but she will. The sort of thing you have in mind forms bonds, and those bonds aren't transient, as you have reason to know."

"Not transient, but they can be dissolved. There are two who can do that here, and they both owe Stefan that much and more." Far, far more, although neither Wolfe nor Marsilia was likely to acknowledge the depth of their debt. "It may not even come to that. You've fed him, Adam, and so has Ben, and so has Peter. I'm not talking about making her a sheep; just giving her enough to handle blood until she can do it on her own."

Warren was watching us in alarm, but Samuel was considering the suggestion. He didn't like it, but he wasn't ruling it out. "Do you really think it would work?"

"Stefan's the one who can tell us." I turned to Adam, searching for the arguments to make this work. I found what I needed in the family portrait on the wall. "She needs this, Adam. What if you were in her place? What if Jesse had been killed instead of kidnapped and you'd been kept in Montana with the assurance that someone would handle it for you?" He'd have killed anyone who got in his way getting back to Washington, that's what. Everyone in the room knew it. My husband growled, clenching and unclenching his fists in frustration. I laid my hands on his shoulders and tried for a less combative tone. "She handled Jonah's death; she can get through this, too. She just needs the right tools. She came to you because she trusts you to take care of her. To give her what she needs." It was as far as I dared to push. We sat, listening to the silence, while Adam contemplated.

"Call him."

I didn't pounce on my phone; I managed a dignified stroll, with barely a trace of triumphant gambol. Stefan picked up after the first ring. "Hey, Mercy. What's up?"

I decided to skip the small talk; Stefan would forgive me for being a little abrupt. "Well, I have a bit of a situation here, and I was hoping you could lend a hand."

I explained to him how Gena had come to us, including the deaths of Trent Bains and Christopher Ramos. Then I explained our problem, succinctly and without the complications of werewolf politics. "She has panic attacks, Stefan-- dangerous ones, where she loses control. We don't have the luxury of waiting for her to work through her issues if she might kill someone before that happens, and she's not going to get better if we have to keep her locked up. I don't want to have to kill her."

"How can I help?"

Stefan had been busy, during the incident with Tim and its immediate aftermath; he'd found out what happened to me by accident, when he went to clear old newspapers from his front porch. I didn't blame him for not being there for me, firstly because that was Adam's job, not his, and secondly because he had been busy being tortured and drummed out of his seethe for his mistress' convenience. His help to me had given her the excuse she needed to do that. As far as I was concerned Stefan had nothing to regret. But I knew that he was sorry anyway, and I knew from the tiny softening in his voice as he asked me that question that he was aware just how close to home Gena's situation hit for me. I wasn't sure exactly how much I was asking of Stefan with this request, but his voice told me it wasn't likely to be more than he would give.

"She needs to have a better relationship with blood. That's what's triggering the panic. She needs to have new memories, powerful memories, to protect her until she can get settled in a new pack and get real help. I figured if anyone can help her with that, it's you."

I didn't have to ask him to do it as a special favor to me; it was enough that I was the one who was asking. Stefan would do anything, up to and including murder, if he thought it would help me. I wasn't sure I ought to encourage that willingness; banking on it the way I was felt a little like cheating on my mate and a little like taking advantage of a friend. But it was the only certain way I could think of to save Gena's life. Lives seemed to be the currency we traded in, Stefan and I; he had taken them for me and saved them for the same reason, and I had risked mine and saved his. We were beyond counting favors.

Stefan's answer was a knock on the front door.

*****

It took thirty minutes to talk Scott into the plan, and we waited another twenty after that for him to shift, the better to rip off Stefan's head if he tried anything dubious. The level of latent hostility there would have bothered me if Scott had been capable of injuring Stefan. Vampires are disturbingly resilient. Adam probably could do some harm to Stefan if he chose, but I was confident Scott wouldn't make much headway.

When he was ready we arrayed ourselves and headed down the stairs, Adam and Scott in the lead. Samuel had excused himself and gone home, so Warren brought up the rear, alert for unexpected visitors who might take what we were about to do the wrong way. We certainly didn't need Jesse stumbling in on this.

Gena's irritation was palpable from the top of the stairs. From the cadence of her pacing steps and the whisper of her jeans I could tell that she was back in human form; I could also tell that she might not stay that way long. I signaled the half of the parade behind me to wait and let Adam and Scott go in first to try and calm her down. Ben, after a single glance at the group descending on him, excused himself and fled upstairs, exchanging a polite nod with Stefan as he went.

Gena accosted Adam on sight. "I need to get out of here; you need to let me out. I've been here too long, I need to go."

"Go where, pup?" He was trying to sound stern, but really he was just cranky. Laughing at him would make him crankier, so I didn't.

In the cage Gena growled, the sound balanced evenly between frustration and rage, and I didn't feel like laughing any more. "Back," she spat, knowing that he knew already. "Back to the sons of bitches who murdered my best friend. His blood is crying to me, Abba. I have to do something about it. Now."

Adam's voice gentled in the face of her pain. "The Marrok is sending his Hand. They will be taken care of."

"I want him!" She threw herself at the cage bars with a force that shook the wall and might well leave silver burns despite her clothing. "I should be the one. I want Bains."

The basement fell very silent. Adam and Scott exchanged wary glances, then looked at me, effectively fielding me the live grenade. Cowards. I sighed and signaled Stefan and Warren to stay where they were. I didn't want to have to explain Stefan _and _this at the same time.

Gena was waiting, still pressed against the silver bars, her lips snarling and her eyes wolf dark. I approached her slowly, both so as not to antagonize her and to gain control of the situation. As the silence stretched out she realized that something was going on; trepidation began to replace rage in her features. By the time I stood beside Adam she had backed away from the bars and stood watching warily in the center of the cell, arms wrapped defensively around her chest.

"You already got Bains," I told her gently. "Before you left Los Alamos. It was probably the last thing you did. You don't remember?"

"I got him? I got the bastard? I don't-- I wanted to, wanted rip his throat out, tear off his smirking head, but I don't..." She was retreating, confused rather than triumphant. "No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't remember." Her eyes flicked to Adam and back to me, pleading for an explanation.

"What do you remember of that last day, after... after Derrick came in and you realized what they had done?"

She was shaking again, big, jerking shivers that racked her nearly from head to toe. "Nothing. Just the smell of the blood..." Scott whined, padding toward the bars, anxious to comfort her, but no one moved to let him in and she didn't seem to notice him. She closed her eyes, rocking where she stood, locked in a losing battle with her own memories.

"I believe I can be of assistance," Stefan observed from my shoulder.

Gena's eyes flew open, wide with terror, as the scent of vampire became suddenly perceptible. I've never minded the way that Stefan smells; there's a note of buttered popcorn that I've always found amusing, in fact, but Gena took a deep breath of it and threw herself on the silver bars again, screaming. "Mercy, vampire! Help her!" Her arm darted out, as though she were trying to slide between the bars and pull me out of danger.

"Geneva." Adam's voice was notably distanced from the soothing tones he had used a few minutes ago. Its authority cut through her panic and drew her eyes to her erstwhile alpha. "This is Stefan. He's alright."

I hadn't realized until that moment how completely Gena trusted my husband. The tension left her like a wave rolling off the beach, rushing down from her face and draining out her toes in a matter of seconds. She smiled at the vampire, eyes wide with curiosity instead of fear. "Sorry; I didn't realize. Nice to meet you, Stefan." She meant it. Adam's word had turned a bitter enemy into a friend in seconds.

I blinked, dumbfounded, as Stefan returned her hello and then, after a pause that I realized belatedly had been my cue to proceed, explained our idea far more eloquently than I would have been able to. Scott shifted uneasily and even Adam looked grim, but the thought seemed to bother Gena not at all.

"So what do I do?" she asked.

_Go like a lamb to the slaughter, apparently._ This was going to be much easier than I'd feared. The short-lived crisis of Stefan's appearance had even distracted her from her panic attack.

As he had when he'd done this for me, Stefan talked her through the process in advance, without making a move toward her. Only after Gena had given verbal consent did he advance to the cell door, and even then he paused again, his quiet eyes searching her face. "You understand that this will establish a tie between us. You are putting yourself in the power of a vampire."

"A vampire who is a gentleman, and a friend. They trust you, so I do, too." She crossed her arms over her chest, ready for Stefan to restrain her. Still he hesitated. "Stefan," she added calmly, "you are offering me help. I accept it, gratefully." She closed her eyes and waited.

She kept her eyes closed as he picked her up and sat, arranging her so that she couldn't jerk and accidentally hurt herself while he fed, It reminded me bizarrely of the old aphorism on marriage, the one about keeping your eyes wide open before and half shut after. She'd made her choice and she was sticking with it.

When Stefan buried his fangs in Gena's neck Scott growled and lunged. His attack came up short; Adam was ready and caught him by the scruff between the shoulder blades. "Behave, or leave," he hissed. Scott shook himself and sank to the floor, glaring resentfully into the cell, a continuous, reverberant growl still faintly audible in his chest. Gena never so much as flinched.

Stefan fed in complete silence, except for Scott's muted growl. It only took a few minutes, but those few minutes were on ordeal nearly equal to the last time a wolf had fed Stefan, when he'd shown up mutilated and ravenous in my living room just in time to save Adam from my Mom. The memory made me grateful that at least I'd done all my explaining for the night. How did I keep ending up in situations like this, anyway?

When Stefan finished, cleaning the wound he'd made with a few careful strokes of his tongue, Gena had changed. She was pale, trembling just a little. Stefan pulled a pocket knife from his jeans and she whimpered.

"Geneva, look at me." He made no move to restrain her again, but the calm in his voice soothed her enough that she did as he said. "This will not be like the last time. It will cause you no pain, and it will not injure me. There is no death here, and no anger. This is a gift. I give it freely." Without breaking eye contact he slid the knife into the skin of his wrist. He held the bleeding wound out to her.

Panting, fumbling like a determined drunk, she leaned forward and laid her mouth to it.

I knew the taste of Stefan's blood-- sour, but also sweet, and above all hot. The memory of that warmth sliding into my cold body sprang to vivid life as I watched Gena drink; I could feel it all over again. The sensation was rather disconcertingly welcome.

Stefan wrapped an arm around his little lamb, steadying her and drawing her in. The action turned her face a little toward me, enough that I could tell that there were tears leaking down her cheeks as she drank. Stefan began to murmur to her, rubbing her back with his free hand, his half-voiced reassurances running together until they were almost a song, a lullaby, mellifluous in a way that betrayed his Italian background. Gradually the words began to change.

"No, no, _dolce. _No more forgetting. It's time for you to remember. Remember what you have lost so that it cannot hold you." Vampires have a wide variety of abilities; some are inherited, some unique, and some a function of what they are. I wasn't sure what category Stefan's ability to read minds during a blood exchange fell under, and I'd never asked him; Stefan is not happy about what he is, and I prefer to make my friends happy where I can. Whatever it was, it qualified him as an exceptional therapist. He talked her through the memories as she drank and kept talking after the cut on his wrist closed and she slid, sobbing, into the protective curve of his body. "You did only right. Mourn him, _dolce_, and let him go. It is no service to hold a dead man here. The debt for his life is paid."

Adam had finally opened the cage for Scott once he stopped growling; he lay now curled against Gena's feet, quiet except for the occasional whimper. As she calmed Adam joined them, stroking her hair silently. The whole thing reminded me of the dog pile on my bed, the pack's way of comforting me through that first horrible stretch after Tim. Just looking at them filled me with a sense peace and safety.

I could tell when the high of drinking vampire blood began to overtake the emotions released by Stefan's efforts; Gena sat up, then stood, reaching down to scratch Scott behind the ears as she did. Her movements were no longer hesitant, now they were exaggerated and strong. Stefan had described the effects as being similar to alcohol, and he was right; the rush of pleasant emotions for no good reason, the feeling of super human strength and prowess, the dizziness. Gena had never been drunk. An uncertain smile kept trying to sneak across her features and getting quashed.

"I feel... odd. Better, but odd. I'm not sure I like it."

"It's a temporary effect," Stefan assured her. "When it goes away, and you are yourself again, remember that you are strong enough to carry what has been laid on you." He turned to Adam. "I'd like to do this again at least once more before this solution is put to the test."

"I'll speak with the Marrok; he can grant us an extra day. I think he'll be amenable."

"Alright. I'll call you tomorrow night, then." He turned back to Gena, cupping her cheek in his palm. "If you need me, _dolce_, call my name. I will hear you." And then he was gone.

* * *

Yet again I find myself apologizing for the delay; for some reason, writing this chapter was like trying to assemble a shattered vase. It was delightful to me in concept, but as I was writing it all came in little pieces, out of order, that I had to shove together to make some sort of cohesive whole. I hope it came out ok and I apologize if anyone ended up excessively OOC.

On the subject of timing, I'm going to have to move to an alternate week posting schedule. I'm sorry, I wish I didn't, especially since we're finally getting out of the angst and into the action, but my work schedule leaves me no choice. At least you all will have Silver Borne to console you. ;)

Which leads me to the final thing I wanted to address in this ridiculously long author's note. I've tried very, very hard to stay completely true to canon thus far, but with the release of the next book this story will become AU; there's just no way to avoid it. So the question becomes, how far from canon shall we venture? I know how the story goes; it's actually been laid down in my mind since before Bone Crossed came out. I believe I can tell the story I have to tell without venturing far afield. However, if you're interested in what happens in my iteration of this world beyond the conclusion of this plot arc or waiting for someone besides Mercy to have some romance, I should start sowing seeds soon. So please let me know: should I leave well enough alone, or should I embrace the inevitable? I've told the story to myself already, so as far as posting goes I'll tell it the way you want.

Thank you, everyone who has read to this point. It's so much fun for me to write this story and to hear from you; I really appreciate all the kind words. I hope you're enjoying this work as much as I am.


	12. Chapter 12

At long last, an update. Thank you to everyone for your input and encouragement, without which this story might not have survived the simultaneous deaths of my computer and back up drive. Please enjoy.

* * *

Charles was smiling when he walked through the front door Thursday. It threw me for a moment. It's not that I've never seen him smile, it's just that he generally goes more for stoic and inscrutable. Charles can do inscrutable like nobody's business. He's also exceptional at silent menace- anywhere from subtle looming to immanent death. He's honed that for his father, but you don't have to have been on the Marrok's bad side to know that you don't mess with Charles. Everyone I know is at least a little afraid of him, except maybe Bran and Samuel, and he goes out of his way to keep it like that. The best you can usually hope for with Charles is impassive.

A head of curly brown hair appeared at his shoulder and I began to understand. Since he's met Anna, little scraps of happiness have started slipping out in less guarded moments. It's sweet, and endearing, and sad, because it reminds me that Samuel's real smile is gone. Charles' looks favor his mother's side of the family, heavily, but the brothers have the same smile. Maybe it was literally the same one, and Charles was just finally taking his turn.  
I dropped the potatoes I was peeling in the sink and wiped my hands on the voluminous apron protecting my T-shirt from the hazards of the kitchen. I'd borrowed it from Adam this morning; all my clean ones were packed for New Mexico.

"You made it!" I exclaimed, nodding warmly at Charles and giving Anna a big hug. Charles isn't much for hugging.

"Last night, actually. Samuel picked us up and took us to his... your... to the trailer. It's nice." It was Anna's first visit to the Tri-cities, although she'd spent some time in the Seattle area. My 1978 mobile home, in the middle of an empty field, wasn't exactly a tourist destination, but it was sweet of her to try.

"Samuel's," I said firmly, "as possession is 9/10s of the law. Besides, he's the one who paid for all the upgrades." Samuel had been a great roommate – he'd replaced my water heater and air conditioner, among other things.

Samuel, carrying a 30 pound smoked turkey as though it were weightless, arrived just in time to contradict me. "I'm just a squatter. You know she almost made me sleep on the porch?" He grinned, broad and charming and shallow. Charles frowned.

"I should have let you; I'd like to see you talk your way out of the trespassing charges. A few nights in jail might teach you some manners," I retorted.

"I doubt that," my husband commented dryly as he came down the stairs. His sudden arrival electrified the room, bathing it in the power of three of the four most dominant wolves on the continent. It made my heart rate pickup a bit, but I wasn't nervous. Not really. Adam smiled, a genuine welcome even if he did take care not to show his teeth, and shook hands with the Marrok's enforcer. "Glad you both could join us for the holiday. Welcome."

Anna nodded in greeting and moved half a step back behind Charles. Her first pack left her with an understandable wariness of dominant wolves, which makes her relationship with Charles both ironic and problematic. They're working it out; pretty well, apparently. Adam strolled over and slung a casual arm around my waist and Charles eased a leg back until it brushed against Anna's, but that was the extent of the territorial displays.

"It will be fun to have Thanksgiving together," Anna volunteered, emerging a little from the shelter of Charles' shoulder. "When we talked about it with Bran, I think he was jealous. He wanted to come, too."

I chuckled at the thought of adding that complication to dinner. All I'd need then was Stefan to come early- I could seat him between Bran and Zee. Still, it had been a long time since I'd shared a holiday with the Marrok and his family; a lot had changed since then. It might be nice to try it again, if I could leave Bran's mate Leah out of it. She'd tried to kill me last time I'd visited Aspen Creek; that was sufficient grounds to disinvite someone, surely? "Maybe next year you can come back and he can come with you. We can have a big family dinner. I call not it on peeling the potatoes."

Everybody laughed, even Charles. "Tell you what," he offered, "maybe you and Adam and Jesse should just join us in Aspen Creek. It'll be easier. We'll make Da peel the potatoes."

Charles joking. The world was changing indeed.

"I'll be in charge of a couple of the turkeys again," Samuel offered cheerily, setting the one he carried lightly on a countertop. "This one is practically perfect, if I do say so myself."

Charles and Samuel exchanged looks that had nothing to do with the turkey. I might have been able to get in on the silent conversation, but we were interrupted.

"Need any help up here? I heard something about potatoes..." Gena appeared at the top of the basement stairs, Scott at her heels and Medea draped across her shoulders. My cat was being systematically and hopelessly spoiled. The whole group stopped short as they caught sight of the new arrivals; the kitchen fell very quiet. Charles has that effect on people- even me, and I don't quell easily. Gena was injured, angry, and on unfamiliar territory, all of which could make this introduction rocky and get her justly kicked off the roster for the Los Alamos trip. This was the moment of truth.

She wisely dropped her eyes as Samuel introduced his brother. I couldn't smell any fear from her, but Scott was putting out enough for both of them, his body tense and uncertain, his eyes focused miserably on Charles' toes.

"It's a pleasure," Gena declared, moving slightly to her right and thwarting Scott's attempt to get between her and the dominant male who had invaded Adam's territory. If only the overprotective males in my life could be thwarted as easily.

Anna stepped forward then, and a change came over the room. She was doing her thing again; even though I can't feel it myself, I could trace the path of her influence as it bubbled out to fill the room by the way the tension evaporated. Charles' shoulders dropped, Adam's arm relaxed against my back. I like Anna and enjoy her company; to the wolves she can be peace incarnate. As the wavefront reached the stairs Gena's head jerked sharply, disbelief and hope warring on her face. Scott's jaw dropped.

"Omega," he whispered roughly, and Anna smiled.

"I'm Anna Cornick, Charles' mate," she said, taking Gena's hands in hers. "I"m so excited to meet you. Why don't we go sit down?"

Gena followed her gentle guidance, wearing roughly the same expression she had when she met Medea. Scott trailed them to the living room, standing out of the way, but close enough to feel the benefit of Anna's calm. When they sat on the couch he folded himself down behind it and closed his eyes.

"That went well," I commented in a low voice as we watched them go. Charles was looking at Anna with undisguised approval. "She must make your job a lot easier," I told him.

"She does." His smile grew sharp. "I hardly have to kill anyone anymore."

His words had the feel of a deadpan joke, but the emotion that flashed across his face was elation. I revised my impressions of Charles a little further.

"We were afraid you wouldn't bring her on a business trip like this," I confessed, reaching out to slap Samuel's hand away from from the turkey before he could steal a taste. He recoiled in mock outrage, cradling his fingers; I ignored him.

Charles shrugged. "She wanted to come."

And that had settled the matter? I elbowed my husband to make sure he was paying attention; he rolled his eyes at me and snatched a bite of turkey.

"Ok, ok, that's enough!" I declared, hauling the bird to one of the ovens to keep warm and safe. "Dinner is only an hour away; no one is going to starve before then. Charles, glad you could make it. Samuel, thanks for the turkey. Adam, don't forget you are in charge of the rolls. Now, anyone still left in this kitchen in sixty seconds becomes my new potato peeler."

It was a hollow threat, since there were only one and a half potatoes left to peel, but very effective. In less than ten seconds the kitchen was empty. Jesse showed up just after I dumped the last potato in the pot, and Adam returned with football scores shortly thereafter. We worked together, Adam on the bread and Jesse and I on the side dishes, while our guests trickled in.

"Mercy!" yelled a familiar voice, and I turned to see the boy who'd given me my job at the shop, now taller than the pot-bellied, crochety old man glowering beside him. Glowering with pride; I could tell from the crinkles around his eyes and the set of his lips. Zee may not enjoy hanging out with the wolves, but he was too devoted a father to pass up the chance to show off his Ivy League son.

"Hi there, squirt," I greeted him. My hug left a butter smear on his shirt; I tried to brush it off, but Tad just laughed.

"It's not home without an oil stain or two," he joked. "How've you been?"

"No one's eaten me yet. How is school going?"

"Killer semester," he groaned, but there was a glint in his eye that made him look like his father. "I'm studying around the clock."

"Pulling all-nighters with just a coffee pot for company, huh?"

"Nah, I have a study group. There are a couple other scholarship kids like me, and we band together where we can, try to thwart the evil professors. So far it seems to be working."

I read 'like me' to mean other fae or part fae students – Tad's scholarship was part of a bribery program designed to coax fae citizens onto reservations like the one Zee lived on. "Any girls in this study group of yours?"

The glint became a full fledged grin. "And if there were? Hypothetically."

"Then, hypothetically, I'd expect full disclosure over dinner. You are sitting next to me, young man."

I pumped Tad for information all through dinner and before Zee dragged him off I'd learned that the mystery lady was a blonde musician from Austria, that her name was Linnea, and that he proofread all of her papers in exchange for help with his European history. Zee snorted at that, and I threw a spoon at him since it's his fault Tad never learned it in the first place. Zee has lived an awful lot of history, but he doesn't like anyone to talk about it. He says he prefers the present. Tad seemed happy with the way things worked out, though; he promised to call me with further updates.

After dinner there was more football; fortunately most of the pack favors the same teams and alcohol has no effect on werewolves. There were no brawls. Warren tapped me on the shoulder late in the afternoon and handed me his cell– I was so wrapped up in monitoring our houseful that it took a second to remember why.

"Kyle! Happy Thanksgiving. How are things going?"

"Better than I expected, actually. We remain tense and awkward. There have been no drunken recriminations and nary a shouting match. Everyone is on their best behavior."

I was glad to hear it, even if I wasn't sure how much of the upbeat attitude was real and how much was for the benefit of his hovering partner. We chatted a few minutes, but it was clear that every second Warren wasn't talking to Kyle was a sacrifice; I elicited a promise that he would come home soon and handed the phone back quickly.

Charles found me on the porch, staring at the moon and catching my breath. "Mercy, I'd like to talk to you for a moment." His eyes flicked to the window and the kitchen table, where both our mates and my daughter sat in warm yellow lamplight, talking and laughing. When the stress of being injured in a crowd of strangers had grown too much for Gena, Samuel had swept her to the trailer to watch movies, but Scott had stayed. That he was willing to part with her, even at her insistence, in favor of Anna's peaceful aura spoke to me of the state of his soul. Ben still lurked nearby as well – not close enough to be drawn into the good time, but never out of range of Anna's influence, either. Most everyone else had gone home, but their contentment still hummed through the pack bonds, enhancing my sense of triumph in the day's production.

"Walk with me?" Charles suggested, stepping off the porch into the darkness.

Whatever he wanted to talk about was sensitive enough that he didn't want to chance being overheard. I figured I'd better go.

We walked down to the riverbank in silence, listening to the crisp breeze rustle the browned vegetation. I used the time to fret about Samuel. Charles was more relaxed and happy than I'd ever seen him before, and watching the brothers together had unsettled me about Sam all over again. He'd been cheerful enough, but when Gena hit her limit he'd been just as eager to leave as she was, and once or twice as he'd looked at Jesse or Anna his expression had slipped a little. I wasn't sure anymore how much of his coping was just a good face.

"I'm concerned about Samuel," Charles announced without preamble and, apparently, without realizing that he was reading my mind. "He's not well."

Guilt curdled in my stomach, even though I knew it wasn't my fault. I wasn't the source of his pain, I just hadn't been the cure he hoped I'd be.

"It's... difficult for him here," Charles continued, "living alone, living so close to you when you are Adam's."

Charles respected Anna; he didn't need the lecture that sprang to my lips on hearing myself labeled as a possession. I took a breath and directed my attention back to the subject at hand. "I know, but it can't be helped. I am Adam's, and that's how it should be. Samuel knows it, too. I keep an eye on him – he seems to be doing ok."

"I wonder if anyone could say for certain. He's nearly as good at guarding secrets as da."

Nor was he the only one being guarded, I realized. Charles was turned slightly away from me, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes fixed on the dark rush of the river. Something was going on.

"Where are you going with this?"

He turned toward me, stray beams from the house glinting in his dark eyes. "Samuel has agreed to come back to Aspen Creek. To live. Probably before Christmas."

My skin turned cold and my stomach lurched as my mind and my heart parted ways. Intellectually I could concede that it was a good move for Samuel. His family would be able to look after him, and Anna's influence could only help. He wouldn't be taunted on a daily basis with the life that he craved and didn't have. I hadn't actually wanted him here in the first place.

But since he'd been here, things had changed. I didn't like the idea of him pining away where I couldn't keep an eye on him. He was a good influence on Jesse, he'd been an invaluable help in the chaos of the last year... he was my friend again. He was pack.

"He hadn't mentioned that."

"Secrets," Charles repeated. "He didn't want to make a production of it, but I think springing it on you at the last minute would be... unwise."

That was an understatement. "Does he know you're telling me?"

"He knew I planned to."

I realized that not all the dismay I was feeling was my own. Adam would have felt my reaction to the news, and he had no way to know what caused it. "Charles, would you excuse me for just a second?"

He nodded, so I wandered back towards the house until I had a clear view of the door. Adam was in the process of coming out of it. I waved at him, sort of a combination 'hi, everything's fine' and 'go away'. I needed few more minutes alone with Charles. He hesitated a minute, but eventually Adam took the hint and turned around. I waited a few seconds after the door closed behind him, trying to compose my thoughts. Charles hadn't moved when I got back.

"He's doing a lot of good here, in the hospital," I offered, watching the black ripples of the river slink by. "I think the hospital is doing him good as well."

"There'll be plenty of opportunity for him to ply his trade in Aspen Creek."

With werewolves around a doctor was never out of work. I hugged myself and kicked at the ground, pondering.

"You said he _agreed _to go back?" I asked. "Not asked to?"

"I was the one who asked. But Samuel said yes." After a moment he added gently, "I think it helped him for a while, being here. But now..."

"Now it's harder," I finished for him.

He nodded. "I've known him a long time, Mercy. A very long time. I'm worried."

"Yeah, so am I." We stood quietly a little longer, Charles giving me space to try to wrap my head around the news. He was really very considerate, in his own way. "I don't suppose I get a say."

"Not really, no. The decisions been made. I would, however, appreciate your opinion."

"I don't like it, but I guess it makes sense. Sort of. You really think it's that bad?" I got a single, sober nod in answer. I sighed. "And you'll keep me informed, whether he does or not?" Another nod, just the same. "I guess I'll have to learn to live with it, then."

"You could try visiting Aspen Creek once in a while. Da would take it well."

I had to glance at him to see if this was another joke; Aspen Creek and I hadn't parted on good terms when I lived there, and my one trip back hadn't been any more warm and fuzzy. There was no trace of humor in Charles' face, though. Bran had come to my aid, against the dictates of common sense, ready to go to war when I was facing down the vampire sorcerer. He'd dropped in just to check on me a time or two in the last year as well. Maybe I _should_ visit more than once a decade in return...

Charles stiffened, bringing me abruptly out of my reverie. I tensed, turning my face in the direction Charles was looking, and sniffed at the cold night air.

Vampire.

"Hi, Stefan."

Between one breath and the next he was standing beside me, his jeans and T-shirt light smudges in the dark. "Sorry to interrupt; I was in the neighborhood and thought I should say hello."

"It's alright, I was just going in." Charles gave a stiff nod, and then turned to me. "We'll leave early tomorrow, probably just after sunup."

"I'll be ready. Tell Adam I'll be right in." I didn't encourage Charles to linger; our pack has a special relationship with Stefan, and most of our wolves would still try to kill him on sight. For a vampire and a werewolf they'd just managed a practically friendly exchange, and I didn't want to push my luck. Charles was already half way to the porch when I turned back to my vampire pal. "In the neighborhood, huh?"

His cheery face turned sober; it was a more fitting expression, but I didn't like it as much. "The second exchange is complete. It should accomplish what you want. It will be more effective while I'm awake, so keep that in mind."

"Right. Plan all bloody brawls for after dark."

Stefan flashed a slightly bitter smile. "Haven't you ever heard that violence solves nothing, Mercedes?" I was startled by the touch of his hand running softly down my hair; Stefan can move at strictly ridiculous speeds when he chooses. "Be careful down there."

"Stefan-"

"I know," he laughed, stepping back casually, "and you're right. But trouble _does_ seem to find you, and your friends do like you in one piece." His eyes glanced across my wounded shoulder, still bandaged under the shirt, and then away.

"I'll be careful," I promised, slightly surprised at the sound of my own voice. First Gabriel, and now Stefan. Was Tony going to show up on my porch tomorrow morning and swear me to caution?

My promise seemed to satisfy him; he took my hand and kissed it, a formal gesture that seemed perfectly appropriate when Stefan did it. "If she gets too vengeance mad, ask her about Jonah. That will settle her down. And if you need me, either of you, just call. I'll come." And once again he was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

In the end we didn't quite fill the little six seat Lear Charles and Anna had piloted in from Montana. Adam and Jesse both rode out to the airport to see us off, Jesse yawning the whole way. The closer we got to the plane, the less I wanted to get on it. One afternoon without an open mate bond made me cranky – a long weekend was not going to be fun.

Adam's arm tightened around me. "It's just like a business trip," he assured me. Jesse burrowed a little tighter against my other side; she'd elected to forgo shotgun in favor of napping on my shoulder for the drive.

"I hate your business trips," I grumbled. Adam laughed and kissed me, and I realized I'd never told him that out right before. "At least this time I"m not the one stuck waiting around at home," I added, elbowing him.

"Twice a day," Adam warned, kissing me again. "You promised twice a day."

"I won't forget."

"And Warren?"

Warren, who was driving, caught Adam's eye in the rearview. "Yeah, boss. Not more than ten feet away at any time." He chuckled. "You can count on me."

"Ten feet? You know he's going to take that literally!"

"I intend him to," Adam replied sharply. "The Marrok's sons will have other priorities. I have Scott and Gena to look after each other, and Warren for you. I don't want you to be alone when trouble finds you."

"_When_?"

Jesse snorted. "Come on, Mom, you know it's only a matter of time."

"Generally not much time," Warren added.

Unbelievable. They were all ganging up on me. "Maybe I should have ridden in the other car. I wouldn't want to put you all in jeopardy when trouble finds me."

"They don't have room for you in the other car. Besides, we can handle trouble just fine together." Jesse reached up to tug on my ponytail.

"My point precisely," Adam approved.

"Mercy's not used to having a pack yet," Warren said. "We'll get her there. Family sticks with you whether you want it to or not."

"I never had this much trouble with family before," I griped, trying to squash both my smile and the lump in my throat.

"Oh, your troubles there are only beginning," Jesse prophesied, reaching behind me to give her father a friendly punch. "Control freak here is all about sticking with you. It's the only way he can be sure you're doing what he wants."

"My way is the best way," Adam said, settling back into his seat with a contented grin.

"Bossy and delusional." Jesse shook her head. "So sad. It must be senility setting in."

"Grounded this week and next," Adam retorted in perfect imitation. "So sad. Must be that smart teenage mouth."

"You wouldn't. Mom, save me!"

"Sorry," I laughed. "I have a business trip."

My breath smoked in the freezing air as I fished my bag out of the SUV and hauled it to the plane. All five occupants of the other car were already standing around the door; as I approached both Charles and Samuel waved and disappeared inside, presumably to do whatever preflight checks were necessary to get us safely off the ground. I hadn't decided what to say to Samuel yet, but whatever I decided on I knew I didn't want to say it in front of a crowd; I'd let him avoid me for a few more hours if that's what he felt like doing.

Scott took a break from his habitual hovering to wordlessly snag both my bag and Warren's and hoist them into the plane with the others. Gena just as silently put an arm around Jesse. Anna seemed to be the only one in the mood to talk.

"Good morning! Ready to go?"

"Ready to join six wolves in an airplane? Oh, yes. Should be great fun."

She grinned at me. "Don't worry. Charles is much less grumpy about flying when he's the pilot, and it's going to be a beautiful day for a flight. Much nicer than when we left Montana."

Wolves have a different definition of 'pleasant weather' than those of us without magically enhanced metabolisms. I was grateful to be headed south this year, instead of back to Montana; the Tricities are positively balmy compared to Aspen Creek in November. Los Alamos, tucked between two mountains, would doubtless be snowy and cold, but it wouldn't be cold enough to freeze my nostrils or eyelashes shut, unlike my childhood home. Definite plus.

"Last night I managed to get a hold of a police officer I used to know pretty well," Adam said, addressing Anna while tucking me a little more firmly against the warmth of his body. "He's still in Los Alamos. I gave Mercy his number in case you run into any legal complications while you're there. You can also go to him when it's time for Gena to reappear." We'd worked out a cover story that should explain what happened to her without too much negative publicity for the wolves, assuming the cops who took her statement didn't ask too many questions. "I'm known to a few other individuals who may be able to help you should the need arise; most of them will know Gena as well."

"You're obsessing, darling," I told him dryly. "It's half a pack of baby wolves against... well, look at the roster. Charles could probably handle this on his own, with one hand behind his back."

Scott grinned agreement. "It's gonna be like lions on a tethered goat, man. Bloody overkill. I can't wait to watch."

"You're going to come back here when you're done, right, Gigi?" Jesse demanded.

Gena shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure, baby girl. There are a lot of things to consider. I haven't really planned much beyond what we're doing now."

"Speaking of, I'm headed back to the car to change, if that's alright with everyone," Scott announced. "Awkward if anyone I knew ten years ago catches a glimpse of me around town when we arrive. Adam?"

"Fine by me," Adam acknowledged, stepping forward to shake Scott's hand and pound him on the back. "Take care. I'll be in touch."

"Sure thing. And thanks, you know, for everything." He turned to Jesse. "Give your Dad hell for me, alright?"

"Will do," she grinned, and Scott trotted off with a hurried backwards wave.

"Hey, boss," Warren asked as Scott retreated, "does that ten foot rule start right away, or after we're in the air?"

"In the air is fine."

"Then I think I'm going to make a quick phone call while I still can." He started off toward the other SUV; the enclosed space would give him at least a modicum of privacy.

"I'm going to go see how the guys are doing in the cockpit," Anna said, swinging herself up through the door. "Back in a few minutes."

"Why don't you take Jesse?" Adam suggested. "Show her how much worse driving could be?"

Jesse stuck her tongue out at her father but followed Anna quickly enough into the plane and out of the chill morning breeze.

Gena looked around at the suddenly empty space. "Did I miss something?"

"No, I just want to say a few things to you before your trip, and then I'm going to dismiss you so I can say goodbye to my wife. Come here."

Obediently Gena came until she was close enough that Adam could take her chin in his hand. "There is a line," he admonished, "between justice and vengeance. You do not get to decide where it is. Do not disappoint me." He let silence add weight to his words, holding her eyes as she murmured a sober, "Yes, sir," and then keeping them as the pause stretched.

"After this is over," he continued eventually, "you will have some choices. I want to repeat that you are always welcome here. Always."

"Thank you, Abba."

He paused a moment more, studying her face. "This won't bring him back. It might not even make you feel better."

"I know. I have to do it anyway." She ducked her head, hiding her face against his hand for just a second. "Thank you for letting me go." When she looked up again she was smiling. "I should let you say goodbye to Mercy now; just yell for me when everyone is ready to leave."

Adam dropped his hand and she turned away, but she'd only gone three steps when he called her name. "Gena?" She looked back over her shoulder, her eyebrows a question. "One more thing. Wherever you decide to go, I want you to promise me that I'll see you again before New Year. I don't care if you come to me or I go to you, but swear that you will be physically present to talk to me at least once between now and then."

Her hesitation was much longer than I expected, long enough to make me wonder what was happening between them that I had missed. The mate bond told me Adam was uneasy, but he had been all morning. It was more intense now, and I couldn't tell why. Remembering when I'd been more or less in Gena's shoes, though, I had a couple good guesses.

"Of course. I need at least another week with Jesse anyway."

"Promise me," he insisted.

"I promise," Gena said, and the uneasiness retreated to its former level. She turned and headed for the SUV where Scott was making himself unrecognizable; Adam didn't call her back again.

"What was that about?" I asked as she disappeared behind the car.

"I'm not sure. Just a feeling." He shrugged and turned to face me, creating little cold spots as the heat of his arms shifted. I shivered. "We have a few precious minutes alone-"

"Hey, Dad?" Jesse's green halo appeared in the plane doorway. "Instead of a car, I think you should get me one of these babies for my next birthday. And flying lessons, too, of course. But it doesn't look _too_ hopelessly complicated, I think I could learn it. And the sky is a lot less crowded than the road. Safer."

Adam's sigh was so small even I could barely hear it. "I don't recall promising you a car," he said dryly.

"Well, not in so many words, of course," Jesse shrugged. "But it's not like we don't all know it's coming. And while I'm very grateful, I just think you might want to consider a small personal plane as an alternative. It wouldn't get me to school every morning, but I'll be going away to college soon anyway, and then I can use it to come home and visit you _so_ much faster, and in between I can see all the places you won't go and Mom won't take me! Just load up a few friends, and off we go!"

"That thought isn't helping your case any."

"But think how much it would broaden my horizons! And maybe this is a calling of mine, just waiting to be discovered! I could be the youngest person ever to make a solo flight around the world or something! Do you really want to stifle my dreams, Dad?"

Adam snorted and laughed despite himself. "Not at all. You keep right on dreaming."

Jesse, also laughing, wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at her father. "Spoilsport." She disappeared back into the body of the aircraft.

"You know she's just campaigning for a car still," I told him, hiding my frozen nose against his shoulder.

"I know. The sad thing is that it will probably work. The next time she brings it up I'll think 'at least it's not a plane'. She's devious."

"She gets it from you. Isn't that the ultimate parental curse? 'I hope you have a child just like you'." I chuckled. "Of course, _I _think it might be good for you to have a taste of your own medicine every now and again."

"My medicine? When is it your turn?"

"Well, that's one of the joys of children. They don't have to inherit your problem traits, they can learn them, too. Jesse's been studying me for a while. I think she'll be able to torment both of us."

"Now that I think about it, tormenting is definitely one of your skills. Funny I didn't notice it earlier."

I kicked him but he just laughed.

Adam and I finally got our uninterrupted few minutes; it seemed like only seconds. Almost before I knew it Warren was ambling back with Scott, fully wolf, trotting up behind. Scott yipped and Gena, in her littler wolf form, slid around the car and made for us as well.

She looked worse than I'd expected. The long sleeved, high necked shirts Honey had selected for her hid the silver welts, but her cinnamon coat didn't. They were still there, raw and angry. The stitches were gone, but they'd left their own angry red lines in the fur, as though they'd come out recently and a little early. Between those and the gaunt, bony look she still wore from being more than half starved she looked like a refugee from the set of some apocalyptic horror film. _'Werezombies Attack', coming to a theater near you this summer_. I didn't mention it as I followed her into the plane.

Jesse and Adam waving us off turned out to be the most exciting part of the flight. Samuel hid in the front with Charles the whole time, Gena kept her nose glued to the window and Warren and Scott slept. That left Anna and I to make small talk for a few hours. Thankfully she's come out of her shell quite a bit since we first met. Mostly I told her Aspen Creek stories, from my adventurous childhood there, and she laughed and marveled that I lived to graduate.

When Gena stood up and started whining at the window, I looked out and got my first glimpse of New Mexico.

Los Alamos sat on a high mesa, tucked like a plate against the slope of the Jemez mountains. The ground fell away so sharply that a perfect pilot could fly straight onto the runway rather than angle down to it. Charles was too careful to try a stunt like that, even though he could probably do it easily. Samuel, on the other hand, would have done it just to make me squirm, laughing the whole way. Fortunately Samuel wasn't the one driving. Charles set us down with a feather light touch.

The rental cars were waiting for us in the parking lot. I was afraid that with three dominant men and two wolves walking across the little airport we wouldn't be able to avoid a big scene getting to them, but no one was around to notice. The little commercial district we drove through as we followed the Cornicks to the condo Charles had rented for our visit was well populated, but even so I saw far more trees than people. The crusted remains of a few inches of snow lingered by the roadside and in the shadows beneath the pines, making it feel more like April than November, but the buildings and lampposts were all decorated for Christmas. So was the rental office of the little complex we pulled into barely five minutes after we left the shoppers behind; we probably could have walked over from the airport comfortably.

It was hard to tell how many buildings surrounded the little lot where we parked, since they were all tucked away in the dips and rolls of the mountainside. It was a great place for privacy. I hopped out and stretched, savoring the scent of pine on the warming air.

"Not bad, hmm?" Samuel asked as he strolled over, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The sight of him walking toward me stirred my stomach and made my heart beat a little quicker; I almost wished he'd go back to ignoring me until I figured out how to feel about his immanent departure.

But maybe I didn't have to decide right this minute. I took another breath of crisp mountain air, air that smelled of Samuel this time, and let my worry lock itself away again. "Not bad," I agreed. We leaned against the car in companionable silence while Charles and Anna disappeared into the office; Anna came out less than a minute later brandishing a key. "He'll take care of the paperwork. Let's unload."

She led us up a little slope and into the trees to a modest looking little two story with a green door. "We'll take the master; you can fight it out for the other rooms," Anna said as she unlocked it and let us inside.

The condo had three bedrooms upstairs and a kitchen, dining room, office, and living room downstairs, all furnished in an upper-class version of the bland fashion common to hotels. The only noteworthy features were the views: the Jemez to the west, out the dining room windows, and across the city all the way to the Sangre de Cristo range to the east.

"Feel like lunch?" Warren asked as he dropped our bags in one of two identical little bedrooms at the head of the stairs.

"Sure. I assume we're getting take out?" Warren, Anna and I were the only ones who could wander in public without a chance encounter becoming a tangled mess. Samuel and Charles are celebrities in their own ways, Scott was supposed to be at least twice his apparent age, and Gena was a technically missing person clearly marked by a recent near-death experience she would utterly refuse to discuss. The police might take that the wrong away.

"Grocery shopping, actually." He waved the folded sheet of paper in his hand. "Gena and I made up a list last night. We'll go the long way, let you tour downtown Los Alamos," he added in a tantalizing tone. "The hospital, the park, the McDonald's..."

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time. How can I say no to an offer like that?"

It took us a good solid hour; feeding werewolves is no mean undertaking, even just for a few days. "Who's going to cook all this?" I asked as we lugged grocery sacks up the little slope to our door. I lugged; Warren attempted to look burdened. Werewolf strength would be nice to have.

"Gena and I will trade off. I start. You're welcome to help if you want; I hear you're good with potatoes."

I chose not to dignify that with a response.

"-list," Charles was saying as we walked in the door, "but I thought you might be able to tell me more about them. Personalities and so on. It will help my assessment."

"Go on," whispered Warren, gesturing me into the living room. "I got this." I took him at his word, dropping my bags in the entry and going to join the discussion. Anna and Charles sat on the couch while Samuel perched on the back, looking over their shoulders at the paperwork Bran had provided on the Los Alamos pack. Scott was back in human form, sitting out of the way and balancing a chair on its back legs the way Bran did once in a while when he was distracted.

"Well, Derrick was the second. He's pretty dominant, more than Trent was, but he's been a wolf barely a year. He works construction. I- I used to think he was pretty ok, before all of this." Gena, also human again, paced in front of the windows as she answered Charles, eagerness and frustration and anger clinging to her like mist on a river. "Ray is next; don't know much about him. He joined the pack while I was at school. Moved from California, I think, or maybe Phoenix. He tries to look friendly, but if things don't go exactly his way... diva type, very high maintenance. He works finance, and money is about the only thing he genuinely likes." She picked up a vase from an end table and began passing it from hand to hand, aimlessly. "The next two... Eli and Jared. Eli isn't the kind you reason with. He has authority issues, and responsibility issues, and basically zero social skills – the only thing he does understand is violence. You have to watch him. Jared, too. If Adam or Jonah were still alpha, Jared would have been killed already." She looked down at the vase in her hands with surprise, as if it had just appeared there. "None of this much matters," she said, setting it back on the table gently and sinking into a chair, "since none of them is anywhere close to you in- anyone else hear that? Or am I hallucinating?"

"Third pass for that set of footsteps," Scott agreed as Samuel hopped lightly off the couch. "Someone wants to visit. Or doesn't want to."

Samuel went to the door and came back with a young man of average height and slender build who was clearly trying to make himself look smaller. His light brown hair was long enough to brush across his cheekbones and he hid behind it while his eyes darted around the room. They stopped when he spotted Gena.

"Zack!" she yelped, rising swiftly. He took a step backwards and ducked his head; when she spoke again it was at half the volume. "I didn't think they'd send you."

He stepped forward again, diffidently, dragging his feet. "Gena... I'm sorry. I couldn't do anything to help you." He bit his lips unhappily. "I know it's a weak apology, but you know how it is..."

She clenched her fist behind her back but kept her voice calm. "I know. The alpha's word is law." The half beat of silence she gave wasn't forgiveness, but it wasn't accusation, either. She shook her shoulders and moved on. "I'm glad you're alright; Adam was worried about you."

"I've been explicitly forbidden to call, or answer the phone, write, text, email... Derrick was kinda desperate about it. The only thing he _didn't_ outlaw was talking with you in person."

"Does he know you're here?"

"I wasn't exactly sent. He knows you're here, though, so I doubt he'll care about me much any more." He turned toward Charles but kept his eyes on the floor. "I'm not surprised that the Marrok is displeased. Derrick thought if we just kept our heads down no one would notice, but..." He shrugged. "Derrick's new, and no one listens to me."

"Is there anything you'd like to have heard?" Charles inquired, his face blank and his arms crossed judicially. Zack considered.

"I know it looks bad, but they're not terrible guys. I know, I know, Gigi, but they're not. What happened to you _was_ terrible and it never should have happened, but it was mostly Trent, and by the time you finished with him there wasn't enough left to make a hamburger. He won't be a problem anymore."

"So the pack's just snapped back to normal then? Whew, that's a load off." Scott leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the table. "Guess we can all turn around and go home then."

Zack sank a little farther behind his hair. "Jonah was a strong leader, but he was strict. He didn't give the new wolves any time to let loose. Trent was too far the other way; no one knew what the rules were, or if there were any at all. It was chaos. Derrick's reigned it in a little, started talking about discipline again, but it's going to take a while for them to find their feet, figure out what's really expected of them." He glared rebelliously into Gena's outraged face. "That doesn't make them all a lost cause."

"The only one on whom sentence has been passed is your former alpha, and he has already paid for his crimes," Charles said.

Across the room, Gena stripped off her sweater. The motion caught Zack's attention; he glanced at her and flinched away. She walked forward slowly and deliberately, her burns and half-healed cuts livid over her sunken skin, until his averted eyes were a kind of shout. And then Scott was beside her, her sweater hooked over a finger and tossed behind his back, and the other hand on her arm.

"So what restaurant has the best blue corn enchiladas? I'm craving some green chile, but I've been gone too long, don't know who's still around."

She blinked at him for a few long seconds and something passed between them. Whatever it was, when it was done she sighed and lifted her sweater from him. "_I_ make the best ones – Berto's mom's recipe. They're on the menu for tomorrow night." She turned away, shrugging back into her top. Zack was still staring at the corner.

"The Marrok will take into account your pack's history and training, individually and collectively," Charles promised. Zack looked at him and nodded, but seemed to have run out of things to say.

"He's not known for being lenient, though," Samuel offered cheerfully. Charles gave him the barest trace of an irritated look.

"He protects, wolves and humans both," Anna said softly, her hands deep in pockets. "If your pack can be saved, he will try, but they will have to prove they can obey the rules."

"We'll meet with your pack tonight to discuss it. At the alpha's old house, an hour past sunset. Tell them." Charles didn't make it a request.

At this dismissal Zack half turned toward the door, but then he hesitated and turned back. He crossed the room to Gena, still planted beside the chair she'd occupied when he came in. He took her hand and pushed the sleeve of her sweater up until he could run careful fingers over the shackle mark at her wrist. "I'm sorry, Gena. I truly am," he said, looking her in the eye.

She nodded, looking more tired than anything else. He lowered her arm gently, gave an awkward sort of half bow, and fled the room. Samuel escorted him out.

"Well, that was interesting," Warren said from the kitchen door. I wondered how long he'd been lounging there; I hadn't even noticed when he'd joined the audience.

"No one died. It's a start," I told him. Gena was still standing, hands at her sides, jaw locked. "Are you ok?" I asked her. She didn't answer. "Gena?"

"Gena?" Samuel echoed.

She shook herself and her eyes came back into focus. "I think I'm going to go lay down until sunset; I didn't get any sleep last night." She wandered to the stairs, looking wilted.

"Wait long enough to get lunch," Warren suggested, moving back into the kitchen.

"No, thanks." She didn't even hesitate.

Scott dropped his feet off the table again and stretched slowly to his feet. "That would be my cue. Hey, runt, wait up!" He bounded up the stairs after her.

* * *

Thanks for sticking with me, and thanks for the comments! They truly keep me going.


	14. Chapter 14

Sunset came quickly. We watched it through the west windows as we ate dinner; it was something to see. The few scattered clouds in the sky seemed to burn with color as the sun slid down behind the mountain. It was a quiet meal, despite occasional attempts by Anna or me to lighten the mood. No one felt like talking.

After dinner Gena and Scott kicked the rest of us out of the kitchen while they did the dishes; I envied them having something to do. I was too tense to call Adam. Today's second phone call would be used to report the successful conclusion of our mission here and my plans for reuniting Gena with her birth parents. I thought about cornering Samuel for our long-delayed discussion, but he went upstairs right after the meal to change- for the first time he was the one worried about being recognized. He didn't want to start stepping on Charles' reputation. Samuel would make a terrible enforcer.

Anna was wandering the living room, restless as I was. "Couldn't have said _half_ an hour past sunset, could you?" she ribbed her husband. He just raised an eyebrow. Charles is never rushed. He was perusing his notes from this afternoon, a field general with a fleeing enemy. Warren was equally calm; he pulled a thin, battered paperback from his pocket and began to read, totally at ease until he was called on. Even this far from Adam I could feel the pack bond connecting us. Interestingly, I felt Samuel as well. Not with the same clarity, but without thirty other wolves cluttering up whatever space the magic runs through I could tell it was him. It would have been nice if that connection could give me some insight into what was going on with him, but Samuel is far more adept with pack magic than I am; I couldn't get any more than a sense of his presence. I worried at it anyway, trying to get familiar with the bond, until Charles stood up and walked to the door. We all fell in wordlessly behind him, eager to finally be on with things.

The house that Gena directed us to was set back on a winding, lightly wooded road a few minutes outside of town. It was isolated; the road was slushy and unplowed, and the mountain rose steeply only a few yards from the back of the building. No other houses were visible: the few that we'd passed recently all masked by the contours of the land and the thin forest. The log cabin exterior didn't manage to make the large footprint and soaring windows look rustic anymore than the human faces of the two sentries on the porch disguised the predators under the skin. They watched us until the cars rolled to a stop and then sulked inside. "Half pack of baby wolves," I muttered to myself. Shame they could cause this much trouble.

Charles was in the lead as we approached the front door, but barely. It was taking a visible effort for Gena to stay behind him. Samuel and Scott, both furry, trotted close on his other side. The front door was open; Charles crossed the threshold without breaking stride.

Nine wolves were waiting for us inside, although it took me a moment to spot all of them. The one standing at the back of the room, directly opposite the door, must be Derrick; he was shorter than I'd expected, but solidly built, with a strong jaw and curly red-brown hair. He was flanked by the sentries from the porch, still glaring – Eli and Jared, if I had to guess. One was dark and weaselly, the other tall and hulking with the kind of build that would have made him a football star in high school but gone entirely to fat before the ten year reunion. Fortunately for him, werewolves don't go to fat. The guy in the corner wearing slacks and a high end polo was probably Ray, the money man and acting second, and a flash of movement in the corner of my eye alerted me to Zack's location, on the second floor landing well out of the way and almost completely out of sight. Three more wolves filled in a ragged sort of line around Derrick, but one stood alone, much closer to the front door. He was tall, with dark hair and a sour expression. I kept an eye on him.

"Damn, bitch, you got skinny," chortled the weaselly one as Gena came to a standstill at Charles' left shoulder. I was afraid that would be all it took to provoke her, but she just smiled, curling her lips back from her teeth. Both sentries paled and took half a step back.

"Shut it, Eli," Derrick snapped, glaring around the room. "All of you, shut it." He turned back to us, standing straighter and trying to regain his dignity. "You would be Charles Cornick?" he inquired, his eyes on Charles but straying repeatedly to Gena, Samuel, and Warren. He was cornered, and he knew it.

"I am," Charles acknowledged. "The Marrok requires an accounting from this pack. Who will speak for you?"

Derrick raised his chin in challenge. "I will. I'm alpha."

"Alphas require the approval of the Marrok. You don't have it." Charles' flat expression made it clear that he wouldn't be getting it, either. "This pack's alpha is dead. Why didn't the pack report his death?"

"Why should we have to? It's pack business. We appreciate you returning his murderer, though. We'll take care of her from here."

No one, not even Derrick, had any illusions that that was what was happening, but I guess he had to try. Scott snarled, just to emphasize that Gena wasn't on the bargaining table; Anna laid a hand on his back and he subsided.

"You're not beginning well," Charles warned. "Tell me about the death of Christopher Ramos."

Derrick flinched the tiniest bit, his eyes and lips tightening. There isn't much that an alpha can't do to a wolf under his charge, but killing humans was another story entirely. Killing humans without approval, that is – I had no doubt that Bran had approved more than one death to protect the wolves' secrets, but it wasn't the sort of decision he let anyone take into their own hands.

"That was... a regrettable decision on the part of my predecessor. Not one that will be repeated."

"Regrettable decision?" Gena whispered incredulously. The sound carried across the tense room and out the open windows, hovering like a death sentence. I looked at Gena and saw that she was tense, poised to charge, her eyes a ruddy chocolate. I caught Warren's eye and moved to intercept before she could make a regrettable decision of her own.

I took a step and doubled over, not sure if I'd been punched in the gut or gotten a noseful of rancid meat. Maybe both. The sensation of something foul washed over me, raising goosebumps that tingled up my arms and legs and pricked my scalp. Gena, just within arm's reach, was suddenly down on her knees, panting hard and looking gray.

Samuel's winter white fur tickled my skin as he positioned himself between us. The vibrations of his bass growl reached all the way to my bones, and they chased the sick feeling back a little.

"Magic," I gasped as Warren's firm hand came down on my shoulder. "Dirty, evil magic."

I staggered to my feet, taking my stomach with me by force of will; it was still trying to bolt. Our group had closed ranks around us, Samuel keeping a menacing eye on the Los Alamos wolves and Charles looking everywhere else, searching for the twisted power. Anna was being calm for all she was worth, which was probably the only reason blood had yet to be shed. She was also shepherding Gena the way Warren was escorting me, Scott alternating between nosing her anxiously and turning to snarl at the pack. By unspoken consent we moved for the door. Gena, though, wasn't ready to go. She was stumbling, hunched over, but her eyes were locked on Derrick and a very lupine threat rose from her human throat.

Derrick backed away from her, shifting anxiously and eyes darting. He smelled like fear and looked like guilt.

"You're an idiot," Warren informed him calmly. "You've just attacked the Marrok's envoy with magic. Whatever trouble you thought you were in, you've just made it a thousand times worse."

Derrick lifted his head and puffed his chest, classic bluffing posture. "No actual harm has been done. It's just a warning, for you to leave us alone. No one messes with my pack."

"This pack, like every other pack in North America, belongs to the Marrok. He will do with it as he pleases. There are no exceptions." Charles' voice alone was enough to melt some of the bravado from the acting alpha, although his chin remained defiantly raised. Whatever rebuttal he was about to make was lost in a surge of the bitter black magic and a shotgun blast.

Warren had me off the ground and out the door before I even realized what had happened. I looked back over his shoulder to see Anna hauling Gena out of the house in a fireman's carry, the others hard on their heels, and behind them... something dark, moving through the thin trees and brush on the hill. I couldn't tell from the flicker of shadow if it was a wolf or a man crouched low or just a figment of my imagination; it seemed to be moving way too fast for anything alive and on foot. I caught only the barest glimpse before it was lost in the dark. A blur of white fur tore after it. _Samuel._

A second current of magic brushed against me, this time cleansing and familiar and vaguely pine scented. Charles' magic. He must be doing something to protect us from whatever attacked us inside. No one from the Los Alamos pack seemed to be following us, and out in the icy night air my sense of the disgusting power that had assaulted us faded to the barest awareness. Warren opened the car door and gently deposited me in the front passenger seat – I waved him off before he could buckle the seat belt for me.

"I got it, it's better now." My hands were still shaking a little and food probably wouldn't be a good idea, but I was functional. Gena didn't seem to be quite as fully recovered; she was collapsed across the back seat where Anna had dropped her, arms tight across her middle and her breath ragged. For a second her wide eyes seemed to glow red in the darkness. "We should help Samuel."

"Samuel?" Charles looked around abruptly, apparently realizing for the first time that his brother was gone.

"There was someone on the hill, behind the house; he went after them."

Anna laid a concerned hand on her husband's arm as Charles closed his eyes. "Do you think he's in trouble?" she asked.

I closed my eyes, too, concentrating on the fuzzy tie that bound me to our wandering brother, but I couldn't feel anything beyond his existence and a vague sense that he was receding.

"No," I heard Charles reply, "I think he'll be alright, at least until he gets back to the hotel. I don't think he's going to find what he's chasing."

It _had_ been moving preternaturally fast. If whatever it was could simply outrun him, maybe it wouldn't bother with the shotgun or black magic. I didn't want to bet on it, though, not with Samuel alone. What was he thinking? Sam was strong, but teeth aren't much good against black magic-

My eyes snapped open as I caught the scent of blood.

No one had moved. Scott was curled against Gena in the backseat, but too calm for her to be the one bleeding. Anna and Warren were both watching Charles...

Charles. That's why Samuel had gone tearing off. In my expert opinion (and as a coyote I've seen my share of beebee and shotguns, both) he'd only been grazed, but it was enough that a splotch of blood, almost invisible in the darkness, was seeping through the torn denim over his left thigh. Samuel didn't have much left to protect, but Charles was his baby brother, dominant super-wolf or no. If someone was trying to kill him, Samuel wouldn't think twice.

"Someone should still go with him." Not Anna, that would only aggravate Charles' wolf and send him out into the darkness as well. "Warren-"

"No, Mercy, it's alright. He's lost the scent." Charles was staring out over the mountainside, watching something I couldn't see. "This area is settling down again; whatever used the dark magic is gone."

I felt better, hearing that. Charles would know.

"Well, that could have gone better," Anna sighed. She kept her eyes on the house, wary and ready for battle. "Regroup and go back now, or wait until tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," her husband answered. "I want to know what we're facing before we walk into that again."

"You better get in, then." She followed her own advice and slid behind the wheel. Warren closed the door behind Scott in the backseat and then did the same.

Despite the snow we headed for the condo at a pace which would have done any of the Earnhardts proud.

By the time Anna unlocked our green front door Gena was ambulatory and I felt like myself again. We pooled in the living room, Charles on the couch with his injured leg stretched out under his wife's troubled eyes. Gena disappeared upstairs for a moment and came back with tweezers and towels.

"Samuel would be useful right about now," Anna observed as she accepted Warren's pocket knife and began cutting bloodied fabric away from her mate's thigh. Everyone else stayed well back, giving Charles as much space as we could.

"It's not a bad wound," Charles assured her. "Silver shot, but not much of it made it inside me. No broken bones or severed arteries."

Anna clicked her tongue disapprovingly and began cleaning the punctured skin with a glare that belied her gentle touch. Gena ran to the kitchen and came back with a bowl; as Anna picked up the tweezers and began digging for shot to put in it, my phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered, and Stefan's smooth voice responded.

"Hi, Mercy. How is your vacation going?"

"I've had better. Is everything alright?"

"It is if you say so. I felt your foundling draw on me pretty heavily a little while ago. Do you need any help?"

I looked at Charles, thinking about silver and black magic. "I'm not sure yet. I-" Charles' phone rang and he dug it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID. _Da_, he mouthed to me. "Can I call you back, Stefan? Ten or fifteen minutes, and I'll give you the full story."

"Sure. Talk to you soon." He hung up, Charles answered, and footsteps approached the front door. Scott and Gena both turned on it, growling; I shot a warning glance at Warren and ran to see who our visitor was before he or she got devoured.

"Please," a voice came from the other side of the door, "we need to talk." It was Zack's, and Gena and Scott both settled down a little at the sound, from homicidal to wary.

"He's alone," Warren confirmed. I didn't feel any magic, either; I opened the door carefully.

Zack was standing on the porch, still ten feet from the door, his face panicked and his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "That wasn't supposed to happen. We didn't mean to attack you."

"I have a bowl full of buckshot that says different," I informed him.

"Please." He looked at us helplessly. "Please, you have to believe me. It wasn't us. The last thing we want to do is make an enemy of the Marrok."

I glanced at Warren and he nodded; Zack was being sincere. I sighed and yanked the door fully open, gesturing him inside. He hesitated, eying Gena, but she just gave him a withering stare and retreated to the living room. Zack slumped and stepped through the door. I closed and locked it behind him.

"Wait here," I instructed. "Scott will keep an eye on you while I find out if they'll talk to you." Scott leaned forward in the canine equivalent of 'make my day', panting slightly to show off his teeth, but I was pretty sure he'd behave himself until we got back.

"He'll have to wait his turn," Charles said as I walked into the living room. He was no longer on the phone, but Anna still hovered over him, prodding at the hole in his flesh. Gena watched from across the coffee table, anxious to be of use.

"Almost done," Anna muttered, plucking something from the wound and dropping it in the bowl. "That one was tiny, though; could one of the balls have shattered?"

Gena prodded the blood covered fragment with one finger. "That's not silver. That's bone."

"Bone?" Anna looked up at her in alarm, then looked to Charles.

"Not mine," he denied.

"Maybe not, but it's definitely human." Gena was still staring at the little mound of shot; she looked a bit green. I joined her.

"How can you tell?" Anna asked. "It might be plastic or-"

"No, she's right," I interrupted. "I can't tell you how I know, but it's definitely human bone. And it smells like black magic. Are there any more?"

"I can't be sure- I need Samuel to check it out. What are they for?"

"Save them," Gena advised grimly, "and make sure you get them all." She spun and took off in the direction of the front door; Warren caught her before she could quite reach Zack.

"A skinwalker? You hired a skinwalker?" she shouted, trying to wrestle out of Warren's hold. Zack flinched.

"He was the only one who would work for the pack after... after what happened. But he wasn't supposed to attack! He was there only to help defend us, in case things went badly. We don't know what happened."

"You hired a skinwalker, that's what happened. And you better hope that you are very, very lucky because you just got the Marrok's son cursed. If you don't find that witch before Charles dies, all that will be left of the pack is a cautionary tale."

"Hold on, hold on," I interjected. "_Dies_?"

Gena quit fighting Warren and turned dark, sober eyes to me instead. "That's what the bone means. Skinwalkers deal extensively in death magic; it's one the _many_ reasons that you should never, _ever," _she glared pointedly at Zack, "associate with one."

"Are you sure he's cursed?" Anna asked from just behind me, bloody towel clenched in one hand.

"I'm fine." Charles said, joining us in the now stifling entry. "Barely a scratch."

"It's not the wound that kills, it's the magic. Once the bone entered your body, the magic was tied to you," Gena explained. "A paper cut would be enough to be fatal."

Charles' stony face didn't alter at all, which was enough to tell me that he'd already suspected something like that. He wasn't precisely a witch himself, but he had enough magic of his own that the skinwalker's taint would be impossible to miss.

"What does finding the witch do?" Warren asked. "You mentioned finding the witch."

Gena sighed. "Reversing a skinwalker's death spell is difficult. It's much easier to just kill the caster, but that only works if you can find him, and I suspect this one won't be coming back soon."

A scratch at the door interrupted our conference. "That's Samuel. Why don't we let him in and move to the living room," Charles directed, taking Anna by the elbow and leading her back toward the couch. Warren released Gena and she stepped to the door, Zack darting out of her way into the kitchen as she passed. Samuel was waiting on the front porch, a mangled 12-gauge shotgun clenched between his teeth.

"Get in here – you're late," I informed him. "You have a lot to catch up on."

* * *

I hope this is ok - it's on the short side, but action packed. I wanted to get it up right away, because it's going to be two or three weeks before I can post again. My grandmother passed away yesterday, and I'll be spending some extra time with my family. I'll have another new chapter for you in mid-October. In the meantime, I'd really love to hear what you think, so please, please comment.

Also, please continue to ignore Shana. She's helping, in her own way. :)


	15. Chapter 15

Samuel took the chewed-over remains of the shotgun to Charles and dropped it at his feet with a half growl.

"I didn't think you would," Charles replied. "But the gun might help." Samuel curled his lip contemptuously. "Well, while you were out we learned a few other things that will help. And my wife could use your help attending to this." He gestured down at his leg; Anna tightened her grip on his arm.

Samuel gave one sharp wag of his tail and trotted up the stairs. I was going to wait for him to rejoin us, but Anna was in no mood.

"I'll fill him in later," she said with a dismissive wave. "Right now I want to understand. This witch is a walker like you?"

"No!" The denial came out a little more emphatically than I'd intended; Charles rose and, in one fluid motion, took a quick step to the side, placing himself between me and his wife. Silver and pain would both bring his wolf to the forefront. The black magic wouldn't be helping any, either. He was still in control, but his ocean of reserve was gone. I took a step back, giving him space, and continued in a more moderate tone. "That's why I hate the name – it lumps us all together just because we shapeshift. I was born the way I am."

"I don't know much about walkers," Gena said, taking up the explanation, "but _skinwalkers_ are black witches; they get their shapeshifting powers from dark magic. Anyone can be one, as long as they have no conscience - to become one you have to kill the person closest to you. They cause all kinds of trouble, especially out on the reservations here."

"How long do we have to find the skinwalker before the curse takes effect?" Anna asked, rising to slide her arm back through her mate's. She stayed in Charles' protective shadow, for his sake rather than her own.

"I'm not sure – at least a few days." Gena turned to Charles. "Can you feel it at all?"

"I can sense something. It's not concrete enough to be instructive." He sighed a little, and the trace of a furrow appeared between his brows. "I can't seem to dislodge it, though."

"The pack is already looking for Owl, the skinwalker... for what its worth." From the sounds of it, Zack was already aware that it wasn't worth much.

"There's one more thing that I can do," Gena said. "If you're willing. I had an assistant professor at UNM whose father is a yataali, a Navajo singer. He has a good reputation with the magical peoples around here and he's worked with wolves before; he helped the alpha before Adam with a complication once, I remember Adam telling me about it. He might be able to do a curing ceremonial for you."

It wasn't the clearcut solution it might have been. Foreign magic doesn't always stick well to magical beings, and there's no guarantee it will do what its supposed to if it does stick. Of course, the death curse apparently stuck just fine. I chose to take that as a good sign for the curing ceremonial. Apparently Anna did, too. She was nearly smiling, her eyes alight and eager. "He could remove the curse?"

"I'm not sure," Gena cautioned. "There are dozens of ceremonials, and they're long and meticulous. No one man knows them all. But I think he could at least tell us who could help, and I think he's trustworthy. He doesn't have a phone, or at least he didn't the last time I talked to his daughter, and he might already be out working – some corners of the reservation are pretty remote. But if he can come, it's worth a try, I think. I can call his daughter and ask."

"Call," Charles instructed, "and see how soon he would be available." Anna slid the cellphone from her pocket and lobbed it in the right direction; Gena snagged it out of the air with delicate grace and dialed.

"Been a while since I was in her class," she commented as the phone rang. "I only remember her office number, but if I remember correctly-" she broke off as a pleasant female voice identified the voicemail of Sofia Whitehorse, Department of Psychology. Gena punched a number on the phone and it started ringing again. "You can forward a call from the office number. This should be her cell." The same woman's voice identified the voicemail of Sofia Whitehorse, this time without the department, and Gena left a lengthy and somewhat awkward message to the effect that it had been an eventful month and she needed to speak with her old teacher as soon as possible, without the police knowing about it. That should get her attention, I thought.

"I don't know what else I can do," Gena said, staring at the phone as she tossed it from hand to hand. "I could drive to Albuquerque; it's not that far. Less than an hour, if Scott drives. We could—"

"Give her a chance to return the call," Warren interrupted softly. "We'll be alright for one night. And we still have a few other avenues to explore."

Gena tossed the phone a few more times, high enough that I was afraid it was going to hit the ceiling and shower us with plastic bits, but it didn't. After the fifth catch Anna held out her hands; it took Gena a long moment to figure out what she wanted, but eventually she did and sent the phone in a clean, slow arc back toward Anna. Charles caught it first and handed it to his wife.

"In the meantime," Anna said, accepting the phone and turning to Zack, "you can tell me everything you know about this skinwalker."

Omegas don't give off a lot of dominance vibes, which sometimes leads to them being mistaken for submissives. No one looking at Anna now would be able to make that mistake. She was polite, even pleasant, but there was absolutely no doubt that she would be getting every bit of information she asked for.

Gena turned to Zack as well, a quiet steadiness filtering back into her limbs. Charles and Warren followed suit. Scott, who hadn't moved more than a foot from the visitor since he walked in the door, relinquished his guard dog position and came to a seat at Gena's heel. Every eye in the room landed on Zack. He shrank back, shaking bangs across his face, and began rapidly addressing his knees in a voice that was nearly a whisper.

He didn't have much to say. The pack knew the skinwalker only by the name Owl. They contacted him on a cell phone; Charles asked for the number, but it wasn't likely to give us much. Zack didn't have high enough status in the pack to be in on the shot-calling, and Trent, unlike Adam, hadn't been big on sharing info with submissives. He knew nothing about who had called in the witch, or how often he was used, although he implied that the arrangement was in place before Gena had her falling out with the pack. Apparently Trent didn't share with females, either.

"They haven't found him," Zack concluded miserably. "Not a trace. Derrick is furious, but there's nothing he can do." He brushed the hair out of his eyes, his gaze shifting from face to face. "It was a dumb idea to have him around, I know. But I swear, Derrick was never trying to harm you, any of you."

"Not even me?" Gena inquired cynically. Zack sighed.

"I don't know what he wants to do with you. I don't think he does either. But you're a weakness in the pack – only half in, and Trent's death is... unresolved. It's a strain. He's trying to protect the pack, hold it together." He looked to Charles. "What do you want from us?"

"For now, your full and unreserved cooperation. After we've dealt with the trouble you've unleashed... we'll see." Charles glanced at Gena. "You can find him again?"

"I can. Now that I'm here I think I could even call the pack, if you needed me to."

Yeah, no surprise she was having friction with the pack. If she could do that, Bran was going to have to bring in a new, much stronger wolf to be their alpha. Assuming he didn't just dissolve the pack.

A phone rang and everyone looked at Anna, but it was Charles who pulled something from his pocket and grimaced at the screen. "Go home," he told Zack. "Stay there until you hear from us. Tell your alpha that I'll want to see him tomorrow." Zack didn't have to be told twice.

"This is Da again," Charles said, gesturing with the phone. "I promised I'd call him back – he's impatient tonight. You have some calls to make, too, I believe, Mercy."

"I'll go upstairs." Warren headed that way, too; Gena was slipping out onto the back porch, Scott at her heels. "Let me know if anything changes."

Charles nodded and answered his phone.

I passed Samuel in the upstairs hallway; he nodded at me and patted my shoulder before vaulting down the stairs. Sometime soon he and I were going to have to have a chat. I couldn't afford to put it off too much longer. I didn't want to kick off another ten year separation without a decent goodbye.

Warren was perched on one of the two beds in our room, drumming his fingers against the bedspread. "You want me in or out? I can't go far, but I can play some music or something."

"Stay; you can be moral support. You should probably keep quiet, though."

He stretched out on the bed, hands folded behind his head. "As the grave," he agreed, closing his eyes.

I called Stefan first, mostly to give myself time to figure out what to say to Adam that wouldn't bring him charging down here or make him order me home. That wouldn't end well for either of us.

Stefan let me tell my story without interruption. "Well," he said when I'd finished, "that would certainly explain what I felt. Would you like me to come to you? It will be easier to support your foundling if I'm nearby, and I have tracking avenues open to me that the wolves do not. I might be able to hunt down your witch."

I wanted to say yes, but it wasn't my call. "I'll ask Charles. It's still his operation. But I can't see why he'd object." As long as Charles could still override his wolf. And as long as Stefan's presence didn't cause more problems than it solved. "Unless there's some sort of undying enmity between your seethe and the one here. The way things are going you're probably feuding."

"The nearest seethe to you is in Santa Fe. Their leader is old, but not so old as Marsillia, and too smart to cause trouble where it isn't warranted. There shouldn't be any problem."

"I'll ask him, then, and leave a message for you tomorrow. That should be soon enough."

"Alright. Be careful, Mercy." He hung up.

"Calling in the reinforcements?" Warren asked, still pretending to sleep.

"We'll see. The more the merrier, eh?"

Warren chortled. "Yeah, that's the idiom to apply here."

"Shut up, you," I laughed, kicking the bed. Warren didn't move. "I'm on the phone."

"I give it two minutes."

"Give what two minutes?"

He propped himself on one elbow and blinked blandly at me. "Before he orders me to pack you up and haul you home."

Two minutes was generous.

"Not if I can talk him out of it," I hedged. "I'm not the enforcer, and I'm not part of the problem. There's no reason to think I'm in any personal danger. And I have you to look out for me. I can talk him around."

Warren raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Just how fast are you planning on talking?" he asked as he collapsed back onto the pillow. "You're going to tie your own tongue in knots."

Bran had raised that possibility more than once over the course of my childhood, in much the same amused tone. It hadn't happened yet, although I'd come pretty close during the corvette incident. Tonight might be another near miss.

No point putting it off.

Adam answered the phone with, "I want you to come home."

Warren nearly choked on a soundless chuckle. "Who have you been talking to?" I asked.

"The Marrok called me about half an hour ago. I don't have a private plane, but there's an airport in Albuquerque and I can have you and Warren on the first flight out tomorrow."

"No, you can't, because I want to stay here."

"Mercedes-" He paused, and I could hear him rubbing his temples. He took a deep breath. "Walk me through that decision, please?" he asked mildly.

For five whole seconds I was too surprised to speak; Warren was turning cherry with the effort of containing his laughter. I pulled my thoughts back together with a will. "The attacker was in the employ of the Los Alamos pack. I am no threat to that pack, physically or otherwise. I'm not injured; not so much as a scratch. And I can still be useful here. I haven't done what I came to do yet."

"As long as you're of use to Charles, you constitute a potential threat to the Los Alamos pack. And you have a widely observed penchant for attracting trouble, whether its aiming for you or not. Bran agrees."

That got my blood nice and boiling again. "Whatever finds me, I have Warren and Charles and Anna and Samuel and Gena and Scott to extricate me from it. If Bran doesn't think that's enough, he can send reinforcements. I won't do anything stupid, and I won't do anything alone. That should be good enough."

Adam was quiet a long moment, long enough to be actually considering my argument. I had a brief, irrational flash of doubt; had I really thought this through, or was it just a gut-level rebellion to the order I'd felt coming? His silence left me unsure, and I didn't like it.

"You know what will happen if you get yourself killed down there."

Yeah, I did. I swallowed. "I won't."

"Alright," he conceded. His voice sounded bone weary. "If you're sure. Call me in the morning. And tell Warren ten feet. _Ten feet._"

"I will."

"I hear you, boss," Warren added. Adam didn't acknowledge, but I knew he'd heard. He'd feel a little better knowing that Warren was following orders.

"I love you, Mercedes." He said it like he wanted me to know, not like he wanted to make me feel guilty. I felt guilty anyway.

"I love you, too. I'll call you first thing in the morning."

"Goodnight."

"'Night."

I tossed the phone vengefully onto my pillow. I'd won, and I wanted to cry. "I'm going to go take a shower." I rummaged in my suitcase for comfortable sweatpants and a clean T-shirt to sleep in. "It may be a long one."

"I'll be here," Warren answered, resuming his napping posture, "within ten feet."

It was a very long, very hot shower.

I felt better as I dried off and brushed my teeth. I wasn't going to get myself killed, and Adam's displeasure was so distant that I couldn't even feel it. Only a few more days away, and then I could go home and turn all that irritation into relief. He could deal with a few days.

I came out of the bathroom to find Gena curled up on my bed, chatting with Warren. Scott was sprawled across her toes. She scrambled up as the door opened, and Scott hopped off the bed. "Hey, Mercy."

"Hi. How are things downstairs?"

"Sofia called. Her parents are in Crownpoint this weekend, visiting relatives." She reached down and scratched Scott's ears absently. "We've set up a meeting for tomorrow morning, at the high school here in town."

"Well that's a relief. Was she optimistic?"

"Noncommittal, and worried. But I think they'll be able to help us."

"Good."

Gena leaned into Scott a little more, crossing her arms and tucking her right foot behind her left. "Um, Mercy, I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot." I sat down on the bed.

"When we were at Trent's tonight, did you happen to notice a tall man with brown hair and a face like a lemon? He was standing closer to us than the others."

"I did notice him, actually. Why?"

She slumped, rubbing her arms. "So he _is_ still there. That was Paul."

"Paul from your old pack? Paul that died?"

"Yeah."

Warren was watching us with raised eyebrows. "Any chance he's seen poltergeist? We could use the extra help."

Gena smiled a little, and I kicked the bed. "You've been watching too many movies," I chided. "I think we'll stick to comedies for three or four months." I turned back to Gena. "You're worried about him hanging around."

She nodded.

"When this is over, I can help you talk to him. We'll figure out what kind of ghost he is, and what he's doing here. I'll help you take care of it."

"Thank you."

"Of course." I settled back on the bed, making myself a little more comfortable. "You know, I had a question I've been meaning to ask you, too." She looked up and cocked an eyebrow in invitation. "Have you thought much about what you're going to do when we're finished here?"

"Finished?"

"When the pack business is settled. It's going to take longer than we thought, but when it's over... I assume you won't be staying here."

"No, I—I hadn't, um, really thought about it much. It seems a long way off." She reached down and scratched Scott's ear again, then abruptly straightened. "Well, it's getting late. I didn't mean to keep you up. Sleep well! I'll see you in the morning." She waved and slipped out the door; a second later I heard the door to her room close.

"Was it something I said?" Warren joked, looking at the door.

I flopped back against the pillows with a sigh that quickly became a yawn. "I think that's enough for one day, don't you?"

"I hope so. Time for a fresh slate. You ready to sleep?"

I stretched, yawning again. "Yeah." The bed was more comfortable than I'd expected; I tugged the comforter down and wiggled under it, stretching one arm under the pillows. I suddenly couldn't keep my eyes open.

Warren rolled himself off the bed, closed the door, and switched off the light. "Sweet dreams."

"You, too," I mumbled as the darkness sucked me in.


	16. Chapter 16

I would like to preface this and subsequent chapters with the reminder that this is a work of fiction. The portrayal of Navajo culture and religion is intended to be respectful and reasonable, not a statement of fact or scholarly work. I have been accurate to the best of my abilities, but as far as I know the situation Mercy finds herself in has never actually come up. ;)

* * *

Warren was already up and dressed when I woke in the morning, standing next to our window and watching the sun spill golden light over the valley. "Mornin'," he greeted as I sat up and stretched.

"Hey," I acknowledged sleepily. I rolled my shoulder, pleased to see that the stiffness was lessening each morning; I hadn't gone furry since my last fight, but it might be time to try soon. I didn't like to go too long without four feet. It made my skin itch.

"Did you get any sleep?" I asked as I shoved myself out of the enticing clutches of the mattress and joined Warren at the window.

"Enough. It's going to be a busy day today. Nice morning, though."

It was, clear and warm, at least inside in the fall of light coming through the window. Below us, on the porch, two shaggy shapes lay twisted around each other, huddled for warmth: Scott and Gena. It must be colder out there. They looked like they might be asleep, except that Gena's head was up and Scott's tail beat a single, leisurely thump against the deck every now and again. "Am I the last one out of bed?"

"Anna's still sleeping, and I think Samuel is, too. Charles is downstairs fixing breakfast."

Typical. As soon as a dominant wolf is injured he has to do everything he can to prove he's not. Still, though, it was a good sign. Charles isn't stupid; he wouldn't be handling routine chores if he was hurt badly. And it might be good to catch him alone to talk about Stefan. I excused myself to the bathroom, in a hurry to get ready for the day.

Warren trailed me downstairs, meticulously maintaining his ordered ten feet. The barest stench of black magic lingered in the living room along with a trace of the salty-rust scent that was Charles' blood. I curled my lip a little and thought about opening a window; Warren cocked his head at me. Apparently he couldn't smell it. Probably not worth opening the window for, then, although wolves don't mind cold. I did, and the smell would fade.

Except that when I walked into the kitchen I realized it wouldn't. Charles was there, as promised, flipping perfect golden pancakes at the stove. I could smell them, and the bacon and eggs still waiting for their turn in the pan. Charles' wound, bandaged and well concealed under his dark jeans, wasn't detectable at all. But the black magic was, was in fact stronger in here than in the living room where we'd removed the cursed bone fragments last night. It was faint, but undeniable. It was coming from Charles.

He turned around and smiled at me. "Good morning, Mercy."

I smiled back and let my observation slide, rationalizing that Charles would be aware of any magic working on him and that we were going to seek help this morning anyway, so it wasn't like there was anything more we could do. He wouldn't appreciate me pointing out a weakness, either, even among wolves that he would consider friends. Instead I got on with the business at hand, trying not to look worried.

I explained Stefan's offer and was pleased to see Charles actually considering it. "I'd prefer he doesn't actually stay here."

"I don't think that will be a problem." Stefan would prefer it that way, too.

"I thought not. I'd also insist that he take no action against the skinwalker without approval from me."

Stefan was a soldier, he'd understand about chain of command. "I'll make sure that's clear."

Charles shrugged. "In that case, I'd be glad of the help."

"I'll let him know."

He nodded and turned back to the stove, throwing bacon in to sizzle on the hot pan. "Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes; you might want to warn the others."

I cracked the back door and discovered that the sunshine that was so warm through the windows was doing almost nothing for the great outdoors yet; there was still a solid fifty degree difference between indoor and outdoor temperatures. "Breakfast in a minute," I called through the inch opening, and two tails thumped simultaneously on the deck. That was good enough for me. I left the door cracked wide enough that Gena could nose it open when she wanted and headed for the second floor.

"Hey, Warren," I asked as we hit the stairs, "do you think you do that ten feet vertical?" I still needed a private chat with Samuel, and my chances of getting one were getting slimmer. If I could talk Warren into keeping his watch from downstairs...

...but he wasn't going to bite. He frowned, looking uncomfortable. "Letter of the law, maybe, but not the spirit. I don't think that's going to work." His eyes flicked up the stairs and back to me. "There's always the headphones," he suggested apologetically.

"Never mind." I smiled and shrugged it off. I shouldn't have asked. "I wouldn't have much time now anyway. Maybe tonight."

I went to Anna's door first, and she opened almost immediately, smiling and running a brush through her damp hair.

"Good morning! Your husband asked me to call everyone to breakfast."

"Oh, great! I'm starving. I'll be right down." She disappeared toward the bathroom.

I turned around to find Gena and Scott coming up the stairs, windblown bits of old snow melting in their fur. Gena looked a little better than she had yesterday, the marks on her body still fading slowly for a wolf but fading nonetheless. She paused to wag her tail at me.

I had a beautiful idea.

"Would you mind waking Samuel for me?" I asked. "Charles is almost done with breakfast."

Gena's lips peeled back and her tongue lolled out in a canine grin; she slipped through the door into the darkness where my erstwhile roommate still slept. I was halfway down the stairs when I heard him let out a yelp that was half growl. Warren, still on my heels, chuckled.

"Very cold nose," he observed quietly. "He's awake now." I grinned.

Breakfast was delicious but rushed, everyone bolting food as if it could hurry the day along and get us to the meeting faster. Afterwords Gena and Scott tackled the dishes and I slid upstairs to make my good morning call to Adam. We had about twenty minutes before I had to reluctantly say goodbye and grab my coat. Time to go.

As we were going out the door Scott paused, bracing himself in the entry and turning back to look at Charles.

"Hey listen, how do you want to play this meet? Because I'm thinking maybe I should hang back and, I don't know, maintain a perimeter or something. The runt tells me her friends are quite traditional, and while I can be polite when I must, I prefer not to overindulge in it." Beside him Gena snorted. "What?" he asked, turning to her in mock outrage. "I can be polite. I can even do charming." He smiled to demonstrate, the intended effect undercut somewhat by the drumming of his fingers against the wall. Gena, apparently immune to charming, shook her head and laughed.

"Security will be fine," Charles acknowledged. "Although anyone so inclined should feel free to drop out altogether."

Anna and Samuel had tried to talk Charles into doing just that when we'd hashed out the roster over breakfast, but he was insistent, and the leg wound of itself was not enough to justify a medical override. As long as he was going, so were they. Gena had to go to perform the introduction, which meant that Scott would be tagging along no matter how little he wanted to participate. As one of the few members of our group who could actually sense the skinwalker's magic, it didn't make sense for me to stay home. Which meant every last one of us would be descending on our visitors, and we were all nervous about the effect that would have. It was a pretty overwhelming crowd. At least we wouldn't be meeting in a confined space.

The sun was finally making some progress; the air was warmer as we filed out to the parking lot. We drove to the school, not because of the distance but because the bland exterior of our vehicles offered a measure of camouflage in this little town. Three people were waiting on the yellowed grass beside the practice field when we pulled into the parking lot: a dark haired, brown skinned woman on the young end of middle age who wore jeans and a black coat, and an older couple in what I recognized as traditional, even old-fashioned, clothing for Navajos under their well-worn jackets- a blue velvet dress and silver jewelry for the woman and cowboy shirt and boots on her tall, spare husband. Sofia Whitehorse and her parents.

The younger woman, Dr. Whitehorse, started towards us we exited the cars. Gena skipped quickly to the front of our group and greeted her friend with a warm handshake. "Thank you. I'm so grateful that you were able to come, and to come so quickly."

"Of course. I'm glad to see you here, too; we were worried for you." Her face was composed to a blank, pleasant expression but her eyes were shrewd enough for me to guess that her worry was not entirely a thing of the past. She turned that shrewd gaze and surveyed the rest of us. "I was one of Gena's professors at the University, and her friend. You know that she's told me about your situation; I'm sorry we could not meet under better circumstances. Please, come meet my parents. They speak almost no English, but I can translate for you."

"Navajos believe it's important to know not just a person's name, but their place in the community," she explained in an undertone as we walked. "Their mother's clan, which is the clan they were born to and belong to, and their father's, the one they were born for. Community is very important here." She smiled a little and added, "Also, Navajo is a very descriptive language; it may take me a little longer to speak your words than it takes you."

"Of course." Charles nodded his head politely as we all came to a stop in front of the older couple. They were an interesting pair, Sofia's mother as short and broad as her father was lanky, her father's hair a pale ash gray while her mother's was barely streaked with white. Both wore their long hair bundled at the back of the neck, and both had skin that spoke of long years in the sun and the wind. Sofia waited for her father's nod before she turned around and began her introductions.

"I am Sofia Nez Whitehorse, born to the One Walks Around Clan, born for the Big Medicine People. I am sometimes called by the name She Sees, and I am known to many of the hidden people who live in this area; my family and I have been acquainted with the Los Alamos pack in the past. My mother, Ina Nez," she indicated the old woman with a nod that was somehow mostly in the lips, "was born for the Red Running Into Water clan. She is a wise woman. My father's father was of the Coyote Pass People. My father is Charlie Nez. He is a singer, and he knows the Holy ways and the Holy places of our people. We have come to help you if we can."

Charles, as the leader, was also our dedicated spokesperson. "I am Charles Cornick, of the Marrok pack, son of the Marrok and Blue Jay Woman, born to the Flathead Tribe of the Salish." His voice held the same formal timbre as Sofia's had, as though these introductions were some sort of sacred ceremony in their own right; with Sofia echoing him softly in Navajo it certainly sounded mystic. "My wife Anna Cornick, also of the Marrok pack, and my brother Samuel Cornick, son of the Marrok and Lone Wolf of the Columbia Basin Territory. Mercedes Thompson, of the White People and the Blackfoot People, daughter of the Marrok pack, wife of the Columbia Basin alpha." He was improvising, but doing it well; I admired the way he could make 'Mercy Thompson, itinerant mutt' sound like a title of distinction.

Charles was about to round out the introductions, but Sofia was still talking. As he paused for her to catch up I noticed that the group dynamic was changing. The cadence of Sofia's voice had shifted, moving from the slow formality of the introductions to... not a quick pace, but definitely a forced one, words pulling out of her, her posture lifted and leaning forward as though the sound was refusing to let her go after it left her mouth. Beside her, both her parents were frowning. All three of them were staring at me.

The string of Navajo stopped, but Charles didn't start talking again. Instead he looked from Dr. Whitehorse to me and back again.

"I'm sorry, but this was unexpected." Sofia walked into the little circle of space between us, her eyes intent on my face, one hand hovering like she wanted to touch me. I made a conscious effort not to step back. "Coyote's child," she said, still staring like I'd suddenly sprouted furry ears and a tail. "She who is at the center of trouble." That brought chuckling from Samuel. "Woman who finds new ways," she continued, "who goes between. Ghost talker. Mercedes the Advocate."

"She Sees," Gena whispered, laying a hand on my back. I shivered.

"When your friend Gena came to her first class with me, I named her Gena Two Wolves." The professor's face contorted in a wry grimace. "Very nearly out loud in front of the class, which might have become awkward. Sometimes I am invited to focus, to notice particulars..." She trailed off and looked over her shoulder at her parents. They had withdrawn a few feet while we'd been talking and were now turned away from us entirely, discussing something with low voices in their native language.

"This may be a problem," Sofia said, and stepped swiftly over to join them.

There followed a lengthy discussion between the three of them that none of us could understand. Their body language was tense, almost angry; I'd guess we were watching a very quiet fight, although I couldn't imagine what had inspired it. Scott eyed them and then drifted across the field and into the trees, presumably to establish that security perimeter he'd mentioned over breakfast. Samuel followed suit, moving off to wander among the school buildings. Warren turned his attention to the busy intersection behind us and the terrain on the other side, but he stayed strictly within Adam's ten foot parameters. I was tempted to move back and forth a bit, just to make him follow me, but that would be mean and wouldn't get us anywhere. It would be nice to have something useful to do, but the best I could come up with was sticking close to Charles. The scent of black magic around him was growing; it was still small, but already it was stronger than when we talked at the house.

Eventually Sofia broke away from the argument and came back to us. "I apologize for the delay," she said. "My parents are very traditional. More traditional than..." a hint of a smile flitted across her face and disappeared, "anyone else I know, anyway. Including my grandparents." She raised her eyes to mine and then looked away again, toward the trees at the far edge of the field. "They are concerned. In our traditions, Coyote is not a helpful influence. Its not a good idea to have dealings with him. It leads to problems."

This was about _me_? I could leave, of course, if it would help, but... why did everyone keep assuming that because I could be a coyote I _was _Coyote? I'd heard similar assertions from the Fae. I'd learned to be indirect in getting what I wanted, sure, but they couldn't really believe my very presence would sabotage Charles, could they?

But Sofia's parents were still here, watching us with placid faces, so some solution must be possible. Gena was edging forward to protect me and I was opening my mouth to recuse myself when Dr. Whitehorse held up a staying hand. "I've spoken with them, about the situation and what I've seen. They have agreed to proceed." That tiny smile appeared and vanished again. "After all, it isn't safe to offend Coyote. And the Marrok's son is your friend, and his father is not entirely safe, either."

True. I wasn't really sure what Bran would do if they refused to help us. Anna and I shared a glance, glad that it looked like we wouldn't have to find out.

Sofia turned from the trees and looked me in the eye again, her expression warming. "I think it may be a good sign that you are here. Coyote can be complicated, tricky, but also very powerful, and good at things that have not been done before. I think you will not strengthen the witch."

She patted my arm and took three decisive steps back to join her parents. This time it was the old man who spoke first, his voice soft and his pace relaxed to the point of sleepiness. His daughter listened attentively.

"He says it is difficult," she translated eventually. "You are not of the People, but you are like the People. You have your own magic, and your own Holy Ways, but it is not a sickness of your people that affects you. You are a sort of Holy Person, but you are not in balance. He can sing the Evilway chants, and the Ghostway. He knows the prayers to cast off witchery, but those were not designed to purify one who is two beings in a single body. It is difficult." She glanced back at her father; the old man nodded at her. "He says he will try. If you wish it, he will look for the way to do the thing you need."

Charles, grim and pale, was still looking at the spot just beside the aged singer. Sofia's eyes, I saw, were fixed on the same place. Something there, then, that not everyone could see.

"I think the spirits know a way," Charles announced.

Charles, Anna, and the three Navajos withdrew to work out the details of the prospective ceremony. Forty-five minutes in they called Samuel over; after an hour Warren and I went for hot chocolate. We came back to find the conference ongoing and Gena plucking restlessly at the grass. Samuel broke away long enough to collect steaming cups for his family and the Navajos.

"How much longer?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "I'm not driving this bus," he said. "But it sounds like we're getting close." Then he loped over to rejoin the discussion, and we sat down on the withered lawn to wait.

Gena and Warren slipped into easy conversation on a string of superficial topics, mostly entertainment and her school days on the very campus where we sat. I listened idly for a little while, then remembered that I could at least make phone calls. I left a voicemail for Stefan and had a rushed conversation with Adam; he was on a conference call, but he'd answered his cell on the first ring anyway, since it was me. I told him not to worry and promised to call again when I had news. I'd been gone a full day now, and I was a little disconcerted to find that his voice made me homesick.

Something was happening, finally, with the group around Charles. It was splitting apart, Charles and the old singer shaking hands cordially as the Navajos pulled away. Samuel was on the phone, Anna asking Charles a question... and once again, Dr. Whitehorse making her way over to us.

"It's decided," she said. "We'll start tomorrow. You will all help with the singing; we will teach you what to do. The ceremony will last five days."

"Five days?" That was quite a bit longer than I'd been expecting, although Gena didn't seem surprised. "What do we do about the pack and the skinwalker in the meantime?"

"The ceremony serves not only to draw the evil out of the patient, but to make it visible. The witch will be drawn in. To complete the ceremony correctly, in fact, you will have to kill the witch." There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. "It is not the way such things are usually done, but there is much power here, and..." her eyes strayed across Gena and I once more, "the right players are here, as well. This time we will slay the evil symbolically _and_ literally.

"As for the other wolves, I recommended to the Marrok's sons that you bring them. Community participation is vital to the success of the ceremony, and you don't have very much community here. We will invite some as well; people who can be trusted." I read that as people who could handle the werewolves and wondered just how many of them there would be. The number couldn't be high.

"Did you figure out how to handle his wolf?" Warren asked.

Sofia nodded, smiling. "His brother will wear a mask. He will be the wolf. They will go through the cleansing together, as one. They will be brought back to balance and harmony together."

A brother to be brother wolf. It did have a certain aptness. And there was something promising in the way she talked about balance and harmony. Samuel could use more of that. Maybe some of it would rub off on him.

"Mercy and Gena," she continued, "you will be asked to wear masks as well. You will represent the warrior twins, sons of Changing Woman, who slew the monsters that lived in the Dinetah, our land, before the People, and made it safe for us." She paused, worry lines forming between her eyebrows and hesitation in her hands. "It is a very sacred story. We would not ask you to do this, if not for what you are. The sorcerers are an ancient enemy to your kind. They saw your people's power and they coveted it. They twisted the world and the beautiful way we were taught for their own power, and for money."

"The enmity runs both ways," Gena assured her. "They're foul, murderers, and their magic is tainted. When he shows, we'll handle him. And we'll do whatever you ask of us for the singing, just the way you say."

After our experiences with Cory Littleton, vampire sorcerer, I was a little less brash about the task ahead. "Will we need to do anything special to kill him?"

"All the usual ways should work, if we can catch him," Gena said, looking to Sofia for confirmation. The professor nodded. "Failing that, we could find out his true name. Skinwalkers require absolute secrecy. If Charles knows his name, the spell will reverse. Sofia can help us with that."

"Maybe," her friend qualified. "My gift..." She chuckled bleakly. "It's a little like research funding. You never know what the higher-ups will approve. It might be precise enough to uncover his war name, but it might not. I'll help if I can."

Gena was undismayed, a predatory smile on her face and the light of the hunt in her eyes. I wondered if this was the version of her Scott had been looking for this whole time. She certainly didn't look like a victim anymore. "We'll work it out," she said. "You just leave that part to the wolves."


	17. Chapter 17

I lay, Monday night, on my bed, staring at the ceiling of the camper Charles had rented to house those of us not staying in the Nez family's hogan for the duration of the sing and contemplating the perilous joys of family.

After my nightly check-in with Adam I'd called Jesse for a chat. Adam wasn't the only one I missed, after all, and she hadn't been home to take her turn on the phone. We'd talked about school and Gabriel and a little bit about New Mexico, and then she'd asked plaintively when I was coming home.

"Soon, please? Dad's kind of freaking out. He's been giving me a bunch of extra chores, I think just so he can have something to order me around about, and he's started pacing the house at night. I can't stand to watch it anymore."

"I can't leave just yet, I'm afraid. A few more days." I was already scaling back my expectations for the next trip. If I could just talk Gena into reuniting with her parents, the rest of it could come later. It wouldn't even take a full day. I was ready to go home.

Before that, though, I had obligations. The ceremony would end Friday, with the rising sun. Until then Zee would have to man my shop and Jesse would have to fend for her dad the best she could.

I was glad, at least, for a few minutes of alone time. Warren was on patrol outside, and Gena and Scott had wandered off to mingle. They were the ones sharing the camper with me; Charles, Samuel, and Anna, as principles in the ritual, were all housed in the traditional eight-sided wood dwelling the Nez family lived in for the duration.

I'd used the privacy of the camper to go coyote for an hour or two earlier in the day; I didn't dare do it outside. Sofia's parents were basically pretending I didn't exist, letting me get all my instructions from their daughter or her husband, who had both ditched their jobs for a week to come help out, mostly as translators. Sofia's husband, also Dr. Whitehorse, was a professor of electrical engineering who dressed like a construction foreman. He had a narrow face, unruly dark hair, and a ready smile. I liked him. He'd joked about their graduate assistants needing the teaching experience and hadn't even blinked at the wolves. He and his wife probably wouldn't have minded a coyote in the mix. Sofia's parents, on the other hand, might have packed it all in after all. That was a risk I couldn't take, not with the death magic on Charles still growing.

So I felt a little better than I had before, but the relief of switching bodies wasn't enough to drown out the gnawing absence where my husband ought to be. In some ways, life had been easier when all I had to worry about was me.

I sighed and sat up, looking for my coat. I might not be able to roam the great outdoors on four feet, but I could still enjoy them. The spot we currently occupied was beautiful. There was a whole lot of nowhere in this part of the country, and the hogan was well into it, a good hour from civilization. A mesa rose to the north, sheltering the little structure and reflecting the rays of the winter sun, and a scattering of pinon broke the wind. Less than a mile away ran a little streamlet that, Sofia told me, would become sizable in the spring runoff and again in the late summer monsoons. A little to the south, off the line between the house and the stream, stood the medicine hogan, larger than the family home and built solely for this sing; it would be dismantled Friday. Rented condos were apparently inappropriate for throwing off curses. A temporary brush arbor near it provided shelter for cooking and visitors. The Nez family also had a cozy sheep pen, emptied before our arrival, and a rough plank shed which currently housed a bunch of extra supplies we'd hauled in for the week. A lap around the buildings or out to the stream and back would clear my head.

Outside, someone was talking with Warren; I listened for a half a second and realized it was Scott.

"-'bet you couldn't ride one of those', and he says 'if you can put a surcingle on it, I can ride it.'"

I heard Warren half-chuckle, half-groan in anticipation. "You didn't!"

Scott just laughed and kept right on with the story. "So we go over to the petting zoo, right, and grab a rope from their feed hut, and I tie it off and we go back to the zebras, and sure enough he takes that rope and hops the fence..." his low voice trailed off into laughter, his and Warren's and a rumbling sound with a yip that meant part of his audience was canine. I had a momentary vision of a cowboy on a zebra and found myself smiling, too. "I think the crazy bastard got a full eight seconds before the MPs started pushing through the crowd and we had to run for it."

"Did they catch you?"

Scott snorted. "I should think not."

"That's a hell of a story, friend."

"Don't I know it. I have more, but they'll keep 'till after bedtime." That remark earned a disapproving growl; Gena, then, objecting to the implication that she was still in elementary school. She was still going timber wolf every night to sleep, a pattern that worried me. I heard Scott lean over and scratch her ears and the growling abated.

"Don't we have one more obligation before we hit the hay for the night?" Warren asked.

"Mmm," Scott acknowledged. "And then I'm going to send the runt to bed. Dawn comes early." There was a scuffling outside. "Hey, knock that off!" He laughed again.

The five day sing was proceeding, fortunately, in chunks rather than continuously. Sofia had made us a schedule, although the times were never exact. The world didn't run on a watch out here. The parts of the ceremony centered on sun position happened pretty much when they were supposed to, and as for the rest of it, well, we weren't going anywhere. The Los Alamos pack showed up when they could; none of them were taking off work for the sing. They stayed well away from everyone else, but they hadn't caused any further trouble, and their acting alpha seemed genuinely eager to make peace. Stefan had made it down Saturday night, and he'd agreed to drop in, once every evening, to keep us updated, although last night he hadn't had much to report. He stayed very discretely away from the singing; if they didn't like me, I was not at all sure what Sofia's parents would make of him.

The sounds of roughhousing outside died away abruptly as I found my coat. The sudden quiet put me on edge, but I didn't have to wait long to find out what caused it.

"Dr. Whitehorse," Warren said politely. "How are you this evening?"

"I'm well, thank you. Is Mercy nearby?"

"She's just inside-"

I opened the door before Warren had to decide if I was ready to be disturbed or not. "Hi."

Warren and Sofia smiled at me; Scott gave me a cocky nod and slipped away with Gena. They moved toward the river, away from the medicine hogan and the fire that burned in front of it, away from the people gathering for the next stage of the sing.

Sofia took a tentative step toward my door. "Can I talk to you for just a moment?"

"Of course. Please, come in." I waved her inside and to a seat at the little table. "What's on your mind?" I asked, taking a seat across from her.

"My father will be starting the next chant soon." True, but an evasion of my question. She tilted her head toward me and kept her eyes focused away. When we'd spoken in Los Alamos 'college professor' had out-weighed 'singer's daughter' in her mannerisms and demeanor, but as soon as we hit the open country that had changed. Out here she was very much as she must have been in her teenage years, drawing water and herding her family's sheep. I could sympathize; going back to Aspen Creek had made me feel fifteen again within seconds. I averted my eyes to make her more comfortable.

"I'm looking forward to it," I told her. "The last few days have been very instructive."

"For us, as well." She leaned back a little, and in my peripheral vision I could see a smile slowly spreading across her face. "Watching this process has been an incredible experience. In a hundred years we may have a new story to tell, about how the wolf people went to the Holy Ones for help against the magic of the chief of the owls."

"Not quite how I'd tell it," I laughed. Sofia gave a little shrug.

"The truth will be there for those who need it. And for those who don't, it will help while away a cold winter night."

I thought maybe now that the ice was broken she'd get to the real reason she'd come. Instead we sat in silence for a moment, listening to the talk drifting up from the medicine hogan. I made a conscious effort to relax; this was going to be a long, slow moving conversation and there was no sense getting impatient. And as long as we had time to fill, I could put it to use.

"I'm glad you came by. I have a question I've wanted to ask you for several days." There hadn't been a good time; we'd been informed very strictly that neither Charles nor Samuel could do violence or touch an animal for the duration of the ceremony. That made it imperative we finish the sing before the full moon, when the wolf half of each brother would have an irresistible need to hunt. To do that, we had to start immediately. With both the Marrok's sons and Anna still wrapped up in planning the ceremony, all the mundane, this-world preparation had fallen to the four of us who remained. I'd barely had time to breathe since Saturday morning.

Across the table, Sofia nodded.

"You mentioned that the skinwalkers and our kind were ancient enemies, that they were jealous of us. I was wondering what else you might be able to tell me about... people like me."

My question brought the university professor back to the surface. "Very little," she said, turning toward me and looking me in the eye. "Our histories of the deep past are oral, passed down through the generations." She brought her hands up and moved them across the table to illustrate her points as she continued. "The stories are layered, to keep secrets when they need to be kept and to preserve the knowledge our people have acquired in a way more resistant to the passage of time. The people and actions are both themselves and symbols, often of multiple things."

She sighed and shrugged, one hand wiping away everything she had just explained. "But sometimes, in a history like that, a symbol is lost. Or it becomes shortened, parts of its meaning changed or shaved. It has been a very long time since people like you walked openly among us. The fear of evil is too great. Without intending any harm at all someone like you would turn neighbors against each other, stir up envy and fear. You would not be able to live in peace. Your enemies have done that. It may be that others like you have been born to our people, but if so they live quietly, not sharing what they are. I had never met one before Gena, and neither had my father or my mother. It took a long time for us to realize what Gena was, because we thought your kind had died out entirely, or moved on to a different world."

I couldn't blame them for thinking so. "I don't think there are many of us. I thought I was the last, until I met Gena."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could be more helpful. What I know deals almost exclusively with the origins of witchcraft. I probably know a dozen stories about your people, as well, but it's been so long since we've had the object to attach the symbol to that I don't know which stories they are, or what details are left out of the winter night versions. Maybe someone does. I hope so. But I can't tell you."

"I'll just have to keep looking, then. If I figure it out I'll let you know."

"Thank you. If it helps, I believe now that the knowledge you seek isn't entirely lost. If you are here, and Gena, there are probably others who have not been separated from their heritage. They will hear of you, and they will want to find you."

I was gaining notoriety at an alarming rate. Maybe some morning I would show up at my garage to find someone waiting, asking if I was the Marrok's coyote. I hadn't had any luck so far finding anyone who knew about walkers; it had to be easier for them to find me.

"Maybe. That would be nice."

"It will happen," she assured me. She let the silence grow again, unfolding between us like a budding tree, and then she looked away and folded her hands in her lap. "I have some concerns, about the sing."

Finally, the meat of the conversation. And I could tell already that I wasn't going to like it. "What kind of concerns?"

She stared down at her hands, a conscious stillness seeping out from her and hovering in the air. I realized I was rubbing my fingers against each other and stopped.

"There seems to be quite a lot of tension between the various groups assembling here. More than I had anticipated. It would be better if we could ease it before there is violence."

Which might destroy the ceremony, and jeopardize Charles' life. "I agree."

"The Los Alamos pack is worse than I expected; under Adam Hauptman and Jonah Lambright they were civilized, but now they're nearly rabid. And most of your group hates them. It's a wildfire waiting to happen. Sometime soon someone on one side or the other is going to lose patience and strike out. I'm worried about who will get hurt."

"I can't do anything about the Los Alamos pack. The best I can do is assure you that our group is aware of the risks and won't put the ceremony at risk. If trouble does start, well, it will end quickly, and we'll do our best to protect your people. They should be safe."

She nodded. "I appreciate that. But I would rather we not get that far."

Well, so would I, but I didn't see a lot of ways to forestall it. "Would you like us to keep the Los Alamos wolves away? We can do that. It would help."

"It would help the tensions between the groups, but not within. That's the other part of my concern, the part I think you're best suited to help with. The anxiety, and the anger, and the restlessness..." She looked up at me and flashed a rueful smile. "There's a word in Navajo: hozho. It's hard to define using English, but it incorporates the concepts of balance and beauty and harmony. Consider it the state of being a person should never leave. Misfortunes, illness, bad things stem from losing hozho." She frowned. "You can see it in Gena, and in her friend Scott – they've lost it. Even the Marrok's older son. So many out of balance... it's worrisome. It will be difficult to finish the ceremony effectively, even if no one decides to draw blood. I thought maybe you could talk to them, encourage a calmer outlook. If you could help your friends focus on wholeness and healing, instead of their fears and hurts, it might be a significant aid to our efforts."

She had a point, but I wasn't fond of her plan. "I suppose I can try, if you want. Gena might be a better choice, though. Scott would listen to her, and I think she and Samuel are getting to be friends as well." And then I wouldn't have to figure out how to broach the subject without striking the spark she was afraid of. I was afraid that my next serious talk with Samuel wouldn't be precisely healing.

"Gena is too angry." Sofia's voice was heavy with sorrow. "Her mind is sick. She seeks vengeance and destruction to wipe out her pain and her failure. She should have a sing, too, but she won't let me bring it up. She won't let me talk about her situation at all."

"She's the same with us. I think she'll feel better once we're done here, and she feels closure."

Sofia shook her head. "More violence will not bring her peace. Only rejecting the anger and learning to live in harmony with the world as it is will heal her. She is fighting for a world that will not be."

I wanted to disagree; knowing that the people who'd hurt me and my friends wouldn't be able to anymore had helped me through some rough patches after Littleton and Tim both. Violence had done some good there. But I also found that I had fragments of one of Pastor Julio's recent sermons floating around in my head – something about forgiveness and loving your enemies. Sort of a central doctrine, and he'd been pretty compelling on the subject. Gena had been raised by someone who believed in peace and forgiveness. Maybe it was time to remind her of that. But I didn't think I could be the one to do it.

"I'll see what I can do," I promised. I could at least talk to Scott, and to Samuel. It would give me license to say more to him than goodbye. "I can't promise it will help, but I will try."

"Thank you."

I let the silence sit for a moment, giving her space to say something more if she felt the need. She didn't. So instead I offered her hot chocolate and we made small talk until Scott called up to Warren.

"Hey, are those females still jabbering? Tell them if they don't get down to the fire we're going to start without them."

"I guess that's our invitation," I observed, collecting the cups and rinsing them out. I followed Sofia out the door to find Scott and Gena waiting with Warren for us.

"Most of Los Alamos actually showed up; everyone but Zack and the prissy guy," Scott informed us as we strolled toward the fire.

"The pack, not the city, I assume." I spotted a huddle of men on the edge of the firelight farthest from the hogan; it didn't look quite big enough to be the whole Los Alamos pack, but it was definitely some of them. I moved subtly to put myself between them and Gena.

"Well, naturally. We wouldn't invite a bunch of scientists. Most of 'em can't tie their own shoes. They'd only get in the way on something like this." Scott gave me that grin again, the fleeting one that made me wish I'd known him before he went to war. "Especially the physicists. Worst of the lot."

From the way Gena bumped his legs, nearly knocking him over, she couldn't agree more.

It looked like we had been called to the chant just in time. Most of the Navajo visitors were already in the medicine hogan along with Charles and Anna and Sofia's parents and husband. Samuel was across the fire from us, talking to a young Navajo man. He'd made friends quickly, the way he always did. Both men were ambling toward the gathering as well. The Los Alamos wolves wouldn't come in, too crowded, but the fact that they'd shown up at all was an encouraging gesture. Derrick was pretty desperate to make friends now. I was actually starting to feel a little bad for the guy. Almost.

We had just entered the ring of firelight when the skinwalker's magic knocked into me again.

I staggered, my stomach heaving and the hair sticking up over every centimeter of my skin. Sofia caught my elbow before I could fall. I leaned heavily on her, forcing myself to stay upright and alert.

They may not be able to feel it like I could, but the others had realized that something was going on. Charles was trying to get out the hogan door, but Anna and Charlie Nez were both standing just outside, barring his way. Good. We didn't have time to start over.

But then I noticed Samuel breaking into a run, chasing a wolf I'd never seen before, one with a lean build and long legs. Those long legs were carrying him and his mouthful of murderous teeth straight for our singer. Whether Samuel could catch him in time or not, it was done.

I staggered forward, knowing I didn't have a prayer of making it in time. I just couldn't stand and watch as a man was killed and Charles' best chance fell apart. Samuel was hard on the wolf's tail, but not quite close enough. Those teeth were almost to Charlie Nez.

Stefan got there first, his body barring access to the old man and his hands moving down to grab the wolf by the scruff of the neck and scoop his legs out from under him. Almost too fast to see, he hurled the attacker out into the darkness beyond the reach of the bonfire's light; I could hear the crunch of bone as whoever it was landed. Still moving impossibly fast, Stefan followed the sound, death palpable in the air around him.

Behind me, something snarled.

I turned, struggling against the nausea, to find Warren grappling with a second wolf. He was bleeding from gouges along both arms, but the wolf was bleeding, too. Scott was helping with that; between the two of them it was only a matter of seconds before the attacker went down. I raked my eyes across the Los Alamos wolves. Jared and Eli weren't among them. I only needed one guess why. Derrick had formed the rest of the wolves, all still in human form, into a defensive circle. The only one moving was Derrick himself, and he was turned away from the fire, looking for something in the dark.

Somewhere out there our skinwalker was waiting. The magic was even stronger now than it had been when we'd confronted the pack, strong enough that it was all I could do to stay standing. Warren and Scott were now standing over a corpse, looking for another enemy to fight, but I couldn't join in the chase. I couldn't even tell them where to look.

"We're too exposed," Warren griped, and plucked me off the ground. It must have hurt, although the cuts on his arms were already closing. They weren't healed yet. No pain showed in his face, though, and the physical contact had an immediate beneficial effect on me.

Warren made a beeline for the hogan. Scott, toting a wide-eyed Sofia in similar fashion, was right behind. "Where's Gigi?" he asked.

She'd been right with us a moment ago. Not enough time for her to have made it into the hogan... "There." I pointed to the clear space between the hogan and the fire. Gena, panting and stumbling, eyes glowing red, was doing her best to cross it. She was nearly to the far side. Stefan was back, just at the edge of the firelight; he made eye-contact with Charles for a second and then slid back into the shadows. A tall, frowning man standing just to the side turned to watch him go and made no move to stop Gena as she trotted after him, gaining speed.

What was Paul's ghost doing here?

Before I could get a second look Warren was handing me off to Samuel. "I'll take the back side," he said, and started around the side of the hogan.

"Wait!" Dr. Whitehorse was tucking his wife under one arm and holding out a rifle with the other. "Special bullets," he explained, "for the skinwalker."

Warren nodded and snagged the gun before trotting off. Scott accepted a second weapon and disappeared the other way, the same direction Gena had gone.

Samuel, like Charles, was dressed for the ceremony: only partially clothed, his skin covered in ash to hide him from the evil we were trying to escape. It would have to be redone; big swaths of skin were showing almost clean where my body rubbed against his chest and arms. My clothes would never be the same. He hadn't put on his mask yet, so I could see that his wide mouth was frowning at me. "Are you hurt?"

"No." In fact, inside the hogan I didn't feel sick at all. I wiggled and Samuel let me down, passing me a little farther into the crowded interior. "Is everyone here alright?"

"Fine," Anna said, one arm wrapped around her husband. "For now. What do we do?"

"We wait," Charles answered. His posture said he didn't like it, but there was nothing else for us to do. "Stefan is hunting the skinwalker."

"So is Derrick." I peered through the door; the Los Alamos wolves were still circled on the other side of the fire, but there was no one else in sight. "I can't feel the magic in here. I can't tell what's going on."

"The hogan is blessed," Sofia explained. "It's protected from the witch's power. Are you sure you're alright? You were very ill..."

I made a face. "It's just the magic. It feels dirty, like eating something rotten." I was going to have to do something about that if Gena and I were really expected to kill the witch. I glanced back out the door; still no sign of Scott coming back with Gena. I couldn't hear or smell him, either, although I could sense Warren keeping watch just outside.

Sofia's parents were standing near us, as calm and steady as always. Charlie Nez started speaking, and the murmurs of the observers instantly died away.

"He says we should begin," Sofia translated. "We have a work to do." She sounded dubious, and a little shaky, but she took a seat in her usual place, and everyone else followed suit. Her mother brought a can of ash and fixed the smudges I'd inflicted on Samuel, and the chant got under way.

The afternoon chant had been accompanied by a beautiful sand panting drawn on the hogan floor. Charles and Samuel sat in the middle and Mr. Nez applied sand from the painting to their bodies, binding them in to the story he was singing. Tonight there was no painting, just the chant and a drum, but I could feel the same magic at work, closing us off from everything that happened outside the hogan door and calling power down through time to help us. It was a little dizzying, especially with the flicker of the fire in the center of the room and the intertwining streams of sound from the singer and his daughter, but no worse than a couple drinks, and while the chant was slipping into my body I didn't have room to be afraid of the witch outside. That was nice. My sense of time went just as fuzzy as my sense of space; before I knew it the chant was over and the moon was high outside.

From the look on his face as we exited the hogan, Derrick was expecting to be executed on the spot. It was a definite possibility, the injunction against violence notwithstanding.

"I couldn't stop it," he said calmly, his shoulders squared and his eyes downcast. "I had them change so they'd be easier to control. I had no idea Owl was capable of doing that, hijacking them the way he did. I could feel it through the bonds, but..." he shrugged and shook his head, "I couldn't do anything about it." He stopped talking and stood resigned, a man before the firing squad.

"You chased him?" Charles inquired.

"I tried. Fu-um," a little bit of very human nervousness slid across his face as he censored himself, "he was too fast. I never even got close. I could feel him, as long as the idiot twins were alive, but that wasn't very long. And you don't see him, or smell him, unless he wants you to."

"Maybe Stefan had more luck," I suggested. He couldn't have had less, at least.

"Is that your vampire?" No one answered, and Derrick moved on quickly. "He looked over the bodies but he didn't say anything. I think he's still around, though." He nodded into the dark, towards the camper.

"Keep the bodies, and don't leave yet. I'll be back to speak to you."

Stefan was waiting for us back at the camper, Gena draped over his lap and Scott, looking twitchy, standing sentry. As we approached Stefan gently dislodged Gena and stood, offering Charles a handful of white feathers. "She got a little bite before he was changed enough to fly away. He took a shot at her, as well, but it doesn't seem to have done any damage." Samuel moved to check anyway. "I removed a bone bead from her right shoulder; under the unbroken skin of her right shoulder," he clarified, producing the bead like a magician who'd had nothing up his sleeve and handing it to Charles as well. "The curse didn't stick. I believe that bodes well for you, my dear." He nodded at me without taking his eyes from Charles.

"Some good news, at least," Warren murmured.

"I took the liberty of examining the battleground, as well. In addition to the attack by the wolves I found signs of two witches, one on the north side and one on the south, both shooting bone fragments, probably through a blow gun."

"Two?" Samuel asked, looking up from his hands-off examination of Gena. He couldn't touch her while she was furry. "Are you sure?"

Stefan nodded. "The good news is that with twice the force, they left twice the evidence. I'll be able to track them." "I don't know that I'll need to, though."

"They'll come back here." Charles' frown deepened; Anna laid a hand on his back and he put an arm around her. "They weren't only after me this time."

"It seems to me it's easier to kill you by sending wolves after Mr. Nez than after you directly," I observed.

"Perhaps," Stefan agreed, "but I think it's too soon to discount the possibility of other targets. A significant portion of the bone fragments seem to have been aimed at Samuel."

Samuel, who was apparently satisfied that Gena was alright and had come over to stand beside me, raised an eyebrow at that but didn't offer an opinion.

"And," Warren added, slinging an arm over my shoulders, "one of those wolves was definitely coming for you. Not the folks in the hogan, not Samuel. You."

"I came to that conclusion as well," Stefan said. His manner held none of the protective heat that swept over Samuel at the idea, but I was sure he felt just as strongly. I leaned into Warren a little, grateful for the uncomplicated shelter he offered and the way his presence kept my other would-be protectors at bay.

"I'll keep watch by the hogan at night," Scott volunteered. "Warren can take the trailer."

"This is turning out to be a great deal of trouble," Charles noted dryly as Scott threw the rifle over one shoulder and strode away. Samuel grinned and slapped his brother on the back.

"At least you can't say you're bored. Shall we go chat up our hosts?"

Charles sighed. "I'll speak with the Los Alamos wolves; I'll leave the others to you."

I lingered a little as the wolves dispersed to their separate tasks. Stefan stayed, too, one hand on Gena's head and the other in the pocket of his jeans. He looked absurdly average, standing like that. It's always amazed me how normal Stefan can be; how normal he chooses to be as long and as often as he can.

"Thank you," I told him, wrapping my arms around myself for warmth. "It would have all come undone tonight without you. And a nice man would be dead for helping us."

Stefan smiled. "I live to serve." He swept a formal bow, a hint of self deprecation in the practiced, elegant gesture. He straightened up and the elegance disappeared, leaving just Stefan, almost smiling at me under the waxing moon. "You should get inside," he said, "and I should be getting back to work."

"Want a hot chocolate before you go?" I offered, opening the camper door.

The almost-smile became full-fledged. "Maybe another time. Wouldn't want my trail to go cold."

"Too late for that," I muttered, shivering, and he laughed and turned to go. His voice drifted back to me as he walked away.

"Call if you need me."

I watched him stroll away for a moment, then turned to Gena. "Wanna come in?" She looked at me and then at the fire, still glowing in its pit. She didn't move. I shrugged. "Suit yourself. Warren can let you in when you're ready." She whuffed in acknowledgment and I let the door close. It wasn't much warmer in the camper, but we had a little space heater and I flicked it on. It would at least get warm enough that I didn't have to sleep in my coat. I left it draped over the foot of the bed, just in case.

I got ready for bed quickly, saving the change of clothes for last and diving into the blankets as soon as I could. I lay with the bedding tucked up to my chin and shivered until the sheets stopped being icy.

Only one thing left to do before I fell asleep. No point postponing the inevitable. I made a face and grabbed my phone from the pocket of my coat.

Adam answered on the first ring. "Mercy, are you ok? It's late."

"He showed up again tonight." I filled him in as calmly and completely as I could, including Stefan's conclusions. "I don't think he can curse me, but I realize that doesn't make me safe. I can't come home; I'm still needed for the ceremony. But," I took a deep breath and reminded myself how much I loved my husband, "I think you should send some more guards. I don't know who, but... Bran might have some wolves he can spare if you don't, and he might approve sending someone who was part of the Los Alamos pack before, if you explain the circumstances." Not Adam, that would still be too complicated. But he might let Darryl come down. Adam would try to send the whole pack if he couldn't come himself. I resolved quietly that if Bran would let him, I wouldn't argue. Just this once.

Besides, there was no way Bran would let him.

I could hear Adam taking his own deep breaths on the other end of the line. When he spoke, his voice was unnaturally thick. "I'll call him now. Someone will be there by sunrise."

He didn't hang up. "You planning on keeping me on the line until backup gets here?" I asked, forcing my tone to stay light. "Warren will think you don't trust him anymore. He already stays within ten feet so well we might as well be tied together. Much as I love him, I don't think I could handle it if he decided on five instead. No offense," I called to Warren, who would be able to hear every word whether he wanted to or not.

"None taken!" he called back. "You're not quite my type, either."

Forever away in Washington, Adam chuckled. "I would never blame Warren. I know full well it takes more than one man to keep danger away from you."

"That's right. You can't keep anything away without the full cooperation of this woman. Lucky for you I think you're cute when you beg. I'll play nice until it's time to come home."

Adam's growl sounded a little lighter than it had when I told him about the skinwalker's return. "I can't believe how long I went without knowing that Bran is a paragon of restraint. It wasn't until I met you that I figured it out."

"I teach all the virtues, and at a very reasonable rate. Which ones are you lacking?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me," he said dryly, and sighed. "Patience has always been one of my least favorite."

"Mine, too," I confessed. "But it's not too long until Friday. And I'll call you. Hug Jesse for me."

"I will. You be careful."

"I promise. I love you."

"I know." I could hear the gratitude in his voice for my unexpected concessions. It made me feel better about giving in. "Thank you. I love you, too." He hung up swiftly this time.

"Only four more days," I said to the phone in my hand. The dial tone didn't seem to care.

* * *

I'm getting them up as fast as I can; thank you for sticking with me.

Oh, and the zebra story? That one's true. :)

Hope you enjoy, and please, please, _please_ comment. It means a lot to me to hear from you. Thanks.


	18. Chapter 18

I was up before the sunrise for the next phase of the ceremony, but not long before. Warren came in just as I tumbled out of bed, cursing the clock. He dropped onto my bed, put his feet up, and threw an arm across his eyes. "Wake me when there's coffee," he muttered. I bristled a little, reflexively, but then I noticed the hint of dimple on his one visible cheek. I sighed and left him lying there. With all the late night guard duty he'd been pulling he deserved a few seconds of rest if he could get them anyway. I'd have to make sure he got a nap sometime this afternoon.

The blanket on the floor where Gena and Scott made their beds was empty; Scott was still out on watch. Gena must have already left for the cook shed, which meant that I could be back with coffee in less than five minutes. Of course, since the shed was more than ten feet away, if he really wanted some I'd have to haul him over there with me. Poor Warren.

There was a note on the table, addressed to me in a sharp but flowing hand reminiscent of my ex-roommates perfect script. Like Samuel's, Stefan's handwriting was a holdover from a bygone era, capable of making even a grocery list into a work of art. Stefan's script, though, was at once more aggressive and more restrained; like a well-made dagger rather than an oil painting, but old and beautiful just the same. Far too nice for the napkin he'd used as a base for his missive. He must have stood at the tiny table to write it, and judging by the content he'd done so less than an hour ago. I hadn't noticed him come or go.

According to the note the witches had gone to ground somewhere, but he had found two camps and a meeting site out in the desert that bore traces of their recent presence, along with five or maybe six others. The camp sites showed traces of heavy magical protection, spells that would make it almost impossible to find a camp where they were active. He would keep after them, but they would be the most vulnerable when they came after us.

Last night had been an improvement, but I still didn't think we were up to catching one skinwalker, much less seven or eight of them. Maybe I should call Zee, see if he had any advice. I suspected he wouldn't, though, beyond the obvious. Some of the Fae around here might. Maybe Sofia could give me some names. Of course, getting anything, including advice, from the Fae was always a dangerous prospect, and anything they were willing to share Sofia's parents would probably already know.

I should give Charles Stefan's report, but not right now. He and Samuel would already be tied up in this morning's rite, and it wasn't a particularly pleasant one, either. They'd be given an emetic made largely of bitter herbs to help purify Charles and his wolf of the curse's contamination. The five day sing had several such requirements, including daily sweats in a small, mostly underground shack near the mesa. Stefan's news would have to wait until after breakfast.

Less than twenty minutes later we all stood together in front of the medicine hogan while the old singer blessed the dawn, the smell of coffee and wood smoke drifting over to mingle with the dust and juniper and the faded aroma of sheep. I'd expected last night's excitement to have scared off most of our Navajo supporters, but no one was missing. No one talked about it, either; last night may as well never have happened, except for the increased wariness among the seven out-of-towners. Anna never strayed from Charles' elbow, and Scott couldn't sit still. His fidgeting was especially noticeable against the respectful calm of the native group. They didn't pay him any attention, though, so I didn't either. I focused on the golden line of sunlight, instead, watching it spill over the heights and across the rocks and brush between until I could feel it on my face and the fine hairs on Warren's bare arm, unmarred by any trace of last night's fighting, flashed bronze. I couldn't understand any of the words Mr. Nez was singing, and for once his daughter wasn't translating, but I found I still felt better when he was finished. Everyone waited for a moment in the stillness, after, and then wordlessly began dispersing, most of them drifting towards the cook shed for something warm to thaw their hands.

I was headed the same direction when I noticed dust rising from the dirt road that led to the Nezs' hogan. Someone was approaching, very quickly. Too public to be the skinwalker; more likely it was Adam's reinforcements. A grin caught at the corner of my mouth as I remembered his promise last night. They were late. If it was Darryl I was going to rib him about it.

I wasn't the only one who'd noticed the visitors. Warren strolled beside me, looking supremely unsurprised, and Gena and Scott trailed along as well. We passed the half dozen vehicles, mostly trucks and mostly battered, that formed an impromptu parking lot where the road became a trail and waited where we had a clear view of the road. Two SUVs barreled toward us, the early sun glinting across their windshields and their suspensions groaning with every jolt in the well-rutted road. A fine layer of dust obscured every external surface of both vehicles and, if our trip out here was anything to go by, several of the internal ones as well. I couldn't make out more than dark skin on the occupants in the front seat of the lead SUV before both cars crunched to a stop by the road side, doors popping open in ragged synchrony.

It wasn't Darryl.

"Good to see you again," David Christiansen said in his soft southern drawl, extending a hand. "Sarge said you could use an extra hand or two. Not out usual gig, but we just finished a job in Mexico, so we were in the neighborhood. And I believe we owe you a favor or two."

Christiansen was a wolf, a lone wolf, technically, although his mercenary squad formed enough of a pack that he didn't risk the personality quirks that isolation could produce in a werewolf. The same sort of service that I provide for Samuel. He was also an old army buddy of my husband's, the only other survivor of the massacre that had left them both wolves. He was a perfect choice for our expanded security detail.

Warren had met David the same time I had, last year when he'd helped kidnap and then rescue Jesse. His two grandsons, now in their customary positions to either side of him, had been there as well. When I turned to introduce them to Gena and Scott I noticed Gena running an appreciative eye over the Christiansen boys' hard muscles and purple-black skin. I might have done the same thing, if I had met them under these kind of circumstances. At the time, though, there had been a small misunderstanding; they'd been intruders in my home and I'd been fighting for my freedom. I glanced over at John-Julian and noted with satisfaction that there was still a little bump in his nose where I'd broken it. Judging by the look he gave me, he was remembering the incident as well. I gave him a smile, hopefully more welcome than taunt, and looked back to my own group.

In that split second Gena's face had changed, hardening and closing up. I was confused until I glanced down, hunting her body language for clues, and noticed the way her left hand was cradled in her right, fingertips braced around a non-existent ring. That was going to be an ugly battle, from the looks of things. Her fiancee had been dead a month, long enough for the wolf in her to start noticing other possibilities, but too soon for her human side. She'd caught herself contemplating getting back to regular life, and she was having none of it. Sofia was right, I was going to have to talk to her.

As David was introducing the rest of his team I noticed a pair of men unloading bags from the second SUV, a pair of men who looked familiar. David followed my gaze and grinned. "Oh," he added, "and we picked up some strays at the airport."

Kyle and Ben turned around and sauntered over, wearing identical smirks, although Ben was trying to make his look like a frown.

"Oh, that's just great. Fly all the way across the effin' country in the dead of night, bounce out to this nowhere backwater-" I glared at him before he could insult our hosts' home any further; he rolled his eyes but took the hint, "and not so much as a 'how d'you do?' in return. Just starin' like a bloody cow."

I completely ignored him, too busy watching Warren and Kyle to care about his whining. Adam wouldn't have sent him if he didn't want to come, not with David's team available. I'd insult him enough to show my gratitude later.

I didn't need the pack bonds to tell me that Warren was overjoyed to see Kyle, uncomfortable at the thought of all the strangers surrounding them, and scared stiff that his boyfriend had somehow appeared in the middle of what was starting to feel like a siege. I hoped Kyle didn't need them, either, because he didn't have them, and Warren, overwhelmed and uncertain, was retreating into his habitual reserve instead of actually saying what was on his mind.

"How did you end up here?" he managed. "I didn't think I'd get to see you for another week."

Kyle smiled a little. "I knew right away that I was going to need a vacation after my Thanksgiving vacation. I managed to clear this week entirely, in anticipation. Of course, I had no idea we'd actually get to _go_ somewhere. If I had known we'd be in New Mexico, I'd have booked a luxury suite in Taos, but..." he looked his partner over soberly, "this has its own charms. It suits you."

Back in the day Warren had been a genuine, range-riding cowboy. Judging by his accent that had been a little farther east, in Texas, and it had required actual cows, which we were currently lacking, but I could see Kyle's point. A state over and a hundred and fifty years late it was still the closest Kyle had likely been to Warren's roots, to any of his past.

"You might have a more restful vacation without the overhanging threat of death magic," I suggested, and Warren gulped. I'd wanted to be the one to say it; Warren and Kyle had had a rough year already, and a poorly phrased expression of concern could easily turn this into a fight. They didn't need that. But I also wanted Kyle to see that gulp. This was not a sight-seeing trip. Warren's fears were both genuine and deserved. I wasn't going to tell Kyle he had to go home, but if Warren tried Kyle ought to know why. Beforehand.

Kyle's shrug was nonchalant, but his eyes narrowed and I knew he'd seen what he needed to see. "Can't be much different from my last vacation, then. And I made it through that one. With substantially less help," he cast a significant glance at David's team, who had withdrawn to a discrete distance to unload gear and survey the area. "These men seem to know their business."

"That's the idea," I agreed. "Adam thinks they'll be enough to keep any unwelcome guests away." I didn't look directly at Warren, but I was aware of him relaxing slightly at the reminder. "Stick with me, kid," I told Kyle. "You won't be able to so much as scrape your knee."

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "No offense, Mercy, but I'd rather stick with him."

"He's stuck with me, too, until Adam lets him off the hook. Which I can probably arrange, now that he's not all on his own anymore. First, though, I think we should all go to breakfast together, before all the food disappears."

"That's a good idea." Gena sidled up on Warren's other side and held out a hand. "So you're Kyle? Warren has told me so much about you. It's great to meet you." The warmth in her voice dispersed a little more of the tension and the movement of her shoulder as she leaned forward to shake Kyle's hand pushed Warren forward, too. He didn't lean back when she did. "That's Scott." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder; Scott was prowling a few dozen yards off the trail, sniffing the air and glaring at suspicious rocks. "You should ignore him as much as possible. Can I take your bag back to the camper for you? You can save us a place in the breakfast line."

With a bemused smile, Kyle handed her the black duffel bag from his shoulder. Ben loped over and stacked his orange one on top of it, then added a bulky black cube of reinforced canvas. "Don't drop that. It's _fragile._ Worth more than you."

If I'd been in her shoes I'd probably have shoved it right back at him and stared him down until he'd taken it himself, but Gena just nodded and turned around.

As she and Scott left and Ben followed the scent of food, Warren used the relative privacy to give Kyle a hug hello. It was a quick one; Warren doesn't go in for public displays, and while Kyle has no problem with them under the right circumstances, he realized that these weren't them. Short or not, it seemed to be enough. Warren started after Ben, talking softly to Kyle, and I nodded to David. He and his grandsons joined me and I began filling them in, somewhat more loudly than was strictly necessary, as we followed the group.

"So who's after the Marrok?" he asked when I'd finished.

"The Marrok?"

"He's what all the attempted targets have in common," he replied without hesitation.

Assuming that killing the singer was an indirect attack on Charles, I supposed you could see it that way. "Unless the witch was going for the easiest available target. Charles was leading the group the first night, and Samuel, Mr. Nez and I were all outside the shelter of the hogan at the time of the second attack."

"Maybe. But I don't intend to count on it."

"It makes more sense than a witch targeting Bran. There's nothing to gain there except a war. The pack hired Owl, but not to hurt or kill Charles, we established that. It's the skinwalkers that every wolf on the continent would go after."

"There's got to be something that makes it worthwhile for them. At the very least, worthwhile to kill Charles. It seems to me we ought to know what that is."

I agreed, in principle. I just couldn't think of anything. Partly because we still didn't know anything substantive about the skinwalker. "Gena says they get their power from death magic. Maybe Charles' death would add something important to the witch's power?"

Christiansen turned up his empty palms. "I wouldn't know. But someone around here should, and we should start asking."

"It's not a very forthcoming group, especially when you're discussing witchcraft. But I guess we can try. And hopefully killing the skinwalker will take care of whatever it is he's after."

It was not the most pleasant day. Everyone was worried and tired, which meant cranky, and the weather turned colder. By noon the sky was entirely gray, and within an hour or so after that big white flakes started drifting down and clinging to the distressed vegetation. When the next section of the sing started I found I was too restless to sit still, even for another sand painting. Warren sent Kyle in to observe before he and I took refuge in the brush cook shed for the duration. Scott was already there, slicing onions and watching David's men set up their tents.

"Brought his own basketball team, huh?" he asked, handing us each knives and waving toward a hunk of what I guessed was mutton and a basket of potatoes. "And those two are his grandsons?" He looked at me and I nodded. "Number one reason people have kids," he declared, resuming his attack on the onions. "They make the best minions."

"Minions?" Warren asked.

"Oh, yeah. Little buggers will do anything you say, if you train 'em right. Funny as hell."

I laughed despite myself. "You are a bad person, aren't you? The kind who teaches swear words to three-year-olds." He just smirked at me. "Ever had any of your own? Kids, I mean."

"Nah. Runt's as close as I ever got. She was a great minion, though. Dedicated! Just a _leettle_ too observant, is all. Truly great minion shouldn't mimic the evil mastermind. Not much weirder than seeing yourself painted over a nine-year-old. Like a funhouse mirror, but accurate." He shuddered, the smirk entirely gone and his face grim.

Warren and I shared a glance. "Is that why you moved?" I asked softly.

His lip acquired a sardonic twist. "Yeah, well, like you said, I'm not exactly role model material. Wouldn't want a mini-me running around."

"She missed you when you left," Warren observed, his eyes squarely on the mutton he was cubing.

Scott looked out at the snow, which was falling more swiftly now. "I'm gonna go get some more water, before the blizzard commences." He grabbed a couple jugs from the corner of the shelter and headed for the creek, snow rapidly limning his hair and shoulders.

Warren let him disappear from view before he spoke again. "That could have gone better."

"Yeah." I sighed. "Sofia wants me to talk to him. And to Gena, and to Samuel."

Warren thought about that for a few seconds. Snow began to collect on the dirt.

"I could talk to Gena for you. She and I have been spending a lot of time together."

"You have Kyle to focus on," I protested.

He shrugged. "I also have work. Kyle knows that. And I think they'll get along."

They probably would. "I'd appreciate it, then." Kyle did have a way with people; he knew how to push all the buttons, good and bad. "I'm surprised Adam let Kyle come."

"He's not a wolf."

That generally didn't stop Adam from getting his way. I had tricks of my own in that department, but I could always use more. Maybe I could ask Kyle for a few pointers.

The chopping was mostly done by the time Scott came back with the water; we finished up in silence and retreated to the trailer, leaving Scott to stir the stew. Ben was there, his computer hooked up to a satellite phone. He nodded at us as we came in without looking up. Warren laid down on the bed, drifting off to the steady click of Ben's typing while I ran scenarios of discussions with Samuel through my head and tried not to pace. When I saw Sofia and Kyle walking toward the camper I pulled on my coat and went out to meet them.

"How did it go?"

"It was very interesting," Kyle said. "I'm looking forward to seeing more tonight."

"In the meantime, you should wait in the camper where its warm. Warmer."

He nodded and immediately took my advice, blowing on his fingers for warmth despite his gloves.

"Mercy," Sofia said as he left, "I have something for you. Something you should have before tonight." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a little leather bag that smelled like earth and magic and held it out for me. "It has been blessed," she said as I took it, "just like the hogan. It should help you, when the skinwalker comes again."

There was a long cord on the bag; I slipped it over my head and tucked the token down under my shirt. "Thank you."

She smiled at me. "You and Gena are our warriors. We can't send you out unarmed."

Officially, Gena and I were scheduled to dance on Thursday afternoon, enacting a ritualized hunt that would end with the symbolic death of the witch. If all went according to plan, that would be the time Owl met his literal end, as well. Between Gena's immunity to cursing and Sofia's anti-witch charm, that outcome was starting to look possible. We'd finish the cleansing, Charles would be well, and that would be the end of it.

I hoped that would be the end of it.


	19. Chapter 19

We didn't have the chance to test Sofia's gifts that night; maybe it was the impressive new guards, but no skinwalkers showed up. Derrick was the only Los Alamos wolf to appear; he came inside the medicine hogan this time but sat away from everyone else, as much as was possible in the crowded space. I tried not to think about him and focused instead on the sight of Warren and Kyle, side by side, both happy and trying to be subtle about it. Dangerous as it might be, I was glad Kyle had come.

I woke the next morning with my courage unusually high; before it could ebb again I called Adam and laid groundwork, in the form of slightly altered rules for my protection detail. Then, after breakfast and the morning portion of the sing, I lingered at the medicine hogan. Samuel, usually inseparable from Anna and Charles, must have sensed something of my intent, because he lingered, too. I waited until it was only the two of us left and he was slipping off his wolf mask before I made my move.

"Can we talk?"

"Talk, or _talk_?" I winced a little, and he smiled. "I see," he said, bending over to set the wolf mask next to Mr. Nez's drum on the dirt floor of the hogan. "I can take some time." He dropped his hands to his sides, a shade of awkwardness in the motion hinting that he missed his jeans; the wrap he wore for the sing had no pockets. It didn't offer much protection from the frigid air, either, but Samuel didn't seem to notice at all as he strolled out of the hogan, heading toward the little creek. I walked with him, away from the crackling fire and the cheerful murmur at the cook shed. Kyle, Warren, and Gena all stood with hands raised to the smoky flames, watching us go. I noticed one of David's mercenaries tracking our movements from his spot near the camper, as well, but no one interrupted or tried to to come along.

I was the one who wanted to talk, but now that the moment was upon me I couldn't decide what I wanted to say. It was Samuel who spoke first. "So, Charles told you." I didn't answer, but it wasn't a question. Charles had probably repeated our whole conversation to his brother. "I don't know what I can add."

"You could have told me." I squinted up at the dusting of snowflakes spinning languidly down from the clouds, not looking at him. Most of yesterday's snow had burned off in one hour of morning sun, but the gray skies had come back quickly.

"I could have," he agreed mildly. "Would that have been better?"

I would have liked to have heard it from him. But if I had, I wouldn't have had any time to think it over. There was a good chance we'd have fought, and that was not the note I'd like to strike.

"It will be good for you, you know," he told me. "Give you and your pretty boy some space."

"I thought everything was fine the way it was."

He sighed. "Maybe. I don't think it will get any better by moving away. But it will make Charles happy, and I guess that's as good a reason as any. It might get Da to relax a little, too." He looked down at me and grinned. "Come on, now, don't make that face. You didn't want me in the first place. You can't complain when I do what you want."

"Watch me. Besides, that's what I wanted last year. Things are different now."

"Not that different," he noted, a breath of bitterness in his voice.

"I'm sorry. I know this isn't how you wanted everything to turn out." It was the best way, I was still convinced of that, but I felt bad for his sake.

"Hey, we've been over all this ground before. No one gets their way all the time." His grin was back. I wondered if he was even aware he was doing it, or if it was second nature to him, like slowing his reactions around humans or listening to his nose. Basic defense. On the other hand, Samuel was very careful. Every word, every silence, every step or glance he does deliberately. So maybe he did know.

We walked quietly for a little while, watching big, sticky white flakes sprinkle down over the brown landscape. Samuel was slowly acquiring polka dots where they drifted onto his bare chest and melted, washing away the ash.

"So what do you think of the ceremony so far?" I asked eventually.

"I've never experienced anything like it, which is saying something. The wardrobe leaves something to be desired," he stared pointedly down at his bare skin, "but... it's doing something. Charles hasn't been doing well, but he's better during the singing. I can feel something, when it's going on; not the way he can, of course, but it feels like... like everything is in order. Whole, maybe." He grimaced, unsatisfied with the description. "It's hard to explain."

I felt a little guilty when he talked about Charles; I'd had almost no contact with him or Anna since we left Los Alamos. It wasn't that I didn't care what was happening with them, just that we'd each been perpetually occupied. The ceremony took up all their time. It was nice to hear that it was at least working. And I was never going to have a more golden lead in to the other half of the conversation I didn't want to have. Time to bite the bullet. "That's what Sofia said, too, when she came to talk to me Monday night. She's worried about the negative energy among our groups, afraid it will damage the curing ceremony. She was trying to describe the idea of hozho, which is the Navajo word for what you are apparently feeling during the sing. Balance, or wholeness, or harmony. She wanted me to have a good idea what the goal was so I could start kicking people toward it."

"Anyone in particular?"

"She had a few people in mind."

His smile was a little more genuine this time. "I take it my name came up."

"You just think any time two women who know you talk, it must be about you," I teased. "Not that you'd be far off." He was a charming, musically gifted, considerate doctor with the kind of body usually confined to Greek statuary. He was certainly one of the most eligible bachelors in the state, whatever state he happened to be in. "If I ask you a personal question, will you answer it honestly? Please?"

He thought about it for a second, then nodded.

"I'm dead certain you have women throwing themselves at you on a daily basis. We both know I didn't break your heart. You aren't in love with me; you don't so much want me as what I have. So why haven't you taken it yet? Why aren't you looking for someone else?"

"What for? So I can kill more children and then watch another wife die? I'm sure there are a lot of fantastic women out there, but... there comes a point where you can't do it anymore. I'm tired, Mercy. Too tired to watch everything unravel again. I know Da felt that way, after Charles' mother died. He at least had us. If I..." I looked up as he cut himself off, surprised at the glimmer of hope I'd heard in his voice for those two little words. It seemed so out of place. Whatever his thoughts, though, his face showed nothing. He felt my gaze and looked over, mischief stealing across his features. "I guess I just haven't met my Leah yet."

I snorted. "I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies, huh?" Bran's mate is the most self-serving, shallow person I've ever met. I've never understood what he sees in her. Not that it's any of my business. It would make me unhappy, though, to see Samuel end up with someone like that.

"We should head back, before I have to start building an igloo to keep you warm." The snow was barely thick enough to see on the ground; he'd have to empty the clouds to get enough to build so much as a snowman. But he'd had enough painful conversation, and he'd been more open than I'd expected, so I let him lead the way back.

It didn't take us very long to get back to the camper; not enough time for me to sort through what had been said and decide if I ought to intervene or not. Samuel must finally be starting to get cold. He was making a beeline for the fire, but I made a snap decision and stopped him before we got close enough for everyone in the neighborhood to overhear. "Sam? It's your life, obviously, and it's up to you where you live it. But I'd appreciate it if you'd reconsider moving. It won't be the same if you go."

He favored me with a broad, wolfish grin that made me glad I'd spoken up. "I'll think about it. I promise."

Waiting for something to happen turned out to be just as stressful as being under attack. Gena and I practiced our part under Sofia's direction, Mr. Nez drew another sandpainting, dinner was served and cleaned up, and we gathered for the night chanting, all with no sign of another foray by the witches. Ben stayed holed up with his computer until nightfall, at which point he and Scott joined David's mercenaries on patrol. We were accumulating quite the motley mix here; enough wolves to be a full pack, but with little of the bonding and hierarchy that kept packs from dissolving into bloody chaos. Despite the crowding claustrophobia of being surrounded by so many werewolves, though, I found myself feeling a little lonely. The Cornicks didn't have any free time, between the sing and Charles' ongoing investigation into the conduct of the Los Alamos pack, and none of the Navajos would talk to me much, even the ones who spoke English. They were an old-fashioned group, and word had apparently gotten around. Gena was still pretty emotionally unstable, intent one minute and withdrawn the next, and watching her pretend that she was totally fine made me tired. The thing that took me by surprise, though, was how much comfort I drew from Ben's presence, even when he was locked up with his work, ignoring the world. He was one more warm spot in the place inside me that held the pack. That place was feeling awfully bare of late, and it was affecting me. I hadn't realized how quickly I'd adapted to the feeling of the group there. Since leaving the pack wasn't much of an option for me I supposed I should be grateful, but it bothered me all the same.

Thursday morning was, if anything, worse. We were still all dressed up with no where to go, and now we were seriously short on time. If the sing was really going to draw the skinwalker in, it only had one more day to do it. Friday at sunrise we were done. Stefan came to check in an hour before sunrise; I woke up to him sitting at the foot of my bed. Not one of my finer moments, but he just laughed when I growled at him. He stayed a long time, almost too long (it would have been very awkward if he'd had to sleep in the camper), despite the fact that all he had to report were stone walls. He'd found new tracks, ones that smelled like death magic, circling the Nez's land, but they'd been made during the day. The witches were still hiding at night. He knew just as well as I did that things were coming to a head, and although he was cheerful I could tell he hated leaving me in the middle of it without him. There was nothing to be done about it, though, so I told him I'd see him at sunset and shoved him out the door.

We had the sunrise ceremony and breakfast and this time it was Kyle I pulled aside for a private chat.

"Listen," I told him, "I know we've mentioned that it's dangerous around here. Chances are good that sometime today things are going to get wild. I just want to make sure you know what to do when that happens."

"I know how to handle a firearm. I figured I'd run with that." Kyle likes to play the dandy to throw people off, but really he's hard as nails. You don't become a divorce lawyer, not a good one like Kyle anyway, if you're not a fighter. Which is why I felt the need for this chat in the first place.

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

His full lips turned down in a frown. "You're going to tell me to go for cover."

"I am. The medicine hogan, specifically, although if it's too far away the camper or the Nez's place will also do."

"Will you be running with me?"

He already knew the answer to that. "I have a job to do. Trust me, I'd rather be with you."

"And I'd rather be useful. Look, Mercy, I appreciate the concern and all, but-"

I held up a hand and he stopped, his expression plainly inviting another objection so he could slap it down. "I'm well aware that you can talk circles around me, and you probably have a counter argument for anything I can come up with. A valid counter argument at that. I know you can look after yourself. But it's not so much you I'm worried about as Warren."

"Warren?"

"He's already stretched, trying to guard both of us at once. If something bad happened... and if he's distracted, he might be the one it happens to."

"The guilt angle, huh? Low, Mercy."

"But true. And if you're going to stick with Warren for the long term you'll have more decisions like this. Werewolves are prone to violence. It's a matter of life and death for both of you to know your limits."

"What about his limits?"

"That's what I mean. Warren's tough. You can do just about anything to his body and he'll get through it." Kyle knew that from personal experience; he'd seen Warren after the vampire sorcerer got through with him. Not the sort of thing a person forgot. Ever. "But you- if something happened to you, especially if it was wolf business that got you hurt—"

"I get it, I get it." His frown deepened.

"Don't worry about Warren. We have a small army of wolves here, and Warren's one of the best. Nothing's going to hurt him."

"I don't like being sidelined." He brought a hand up and rubbed at his temple, then dropped it again with a sigh. "But, for this time at least, I suppose I'll do as I'm told."

"Thank you."

He smiled at me and I felt I knew what it would be like if I one day slipped up and accidentally thanked one of the Fae. Somehow I'd come out of that conversation owing him a favor.

After lunch Gena and I were on. Clouds piled up around the mountains, but the sky above us was clear again and the temperature was about ten degrees warmer than it had been the day before, which was good because my ceremonial clothing didn't include a coat. Our section of the proceedings was held outside, with everyone gathered around watching, which did nothing good for my sudden bout of stage fright. It had to be done, though, so I concentrated on Sophia's smiling face and the beat of the drum and started dancing, and the fear receded. It was actually kind of fun, once I was a few steps in. Our dance represented stalking and finally killing the enemy, and at the end we got to use arrows to stab a little bundle that I recognized as the feathers Gena had snapped from the skinwalker Monday night. I put a lot of energy into that part, making sure that any sympathetic magic we invoked was good and strong. When we were done Sofia was still smiling, so I figured we'd done alright.

This time the singing would go all night. Sofia's parents had both seriously impressed me with their stamina; I was having a hard time keeping up with the pace they set. There was a festive atmosphere to the evening meal, which we actually started an hour before sundown, despite the tension. Everyone who had shown up for any part of the sing was back for the finale, including every surviving member of the Los Alamos pack. They looked a little beleaguered and they kept to themselves on the far side of the fire, but at least they were there.

I found Warren and Kyle and stood beside them, a plastic bowl of chili balanced on one hand. They'd managed to meet one of the few guests of the Nezs' generation who was comfortable using English, and the man was now telling them stories about the other guests. He paused a moment as I joined the group, but when I didn't do anything besides smile and eat my dinner he started up again. We ate to the accompaniment of his steady narration.

"And that over there is... oh, wait, I guess it's not. I thought that was the Sanchez kid, but then he turned this way. I don't know that man. The Sanchez kid, though, his ears look just the same, and one time, down to Shiprock, he..."

I lost track of the story, watching the middle aged man our tour guide had failed to recognize. He looked like everyone else: dark hair and eyes, old jeans and well-worn boots, the shorter, stockier build and round face that Sophia's husband told me came from the intermixing of Pueblo or Spanish blood. But he didn't quite move like everyone else. Something about his air reminded me of an actor, or maybe a politician. He looked over and caught me staring at him, and I started to blush at my faux pas, but he just smiled and tipped his hat.

I've lived my whole life around wolves, and I know how to read a nonverbal signal. That smile was a challenge. I took a deep breath and smelled it, just as it started this time. Death magic.

It still stunk, but it no longer hit me like food poisoning. Sophia's charm must be working. It was just barely sunset, too early to call Stefan; we'd have to handle this ourselves.

First step: clear out the innocent bystanders.

"Witch!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, weaving through the crowd of guests. The skinwalker had worked his way in close to Charlie Nez again. He looked back at me when I started yelling, the smile still on his face. He knew I couldn't get close enough to stop him in time. But he'd never seen a wolf pack operate, not a good one.

Like a faucet suddenly turned on full the bonds inside me opened up. I could feel Samuel yank something through, from me to him, and he turned and took two running steps, blocking the witch's path to the old man. David Christiansen, who had been enjoying a quiet chat with Anna, immediately broke away and put himself in front of Samuel. Anna and Charles formed up around the Nezs and began moving them cautiously but quickly out of the danger zone. Meanwhile I was still bearing down on the intruder, Warren right on my heels. I wasn't sure what I would do when I reached him, but I'd think of something.

The witch must have been counting on us being helpless without Stefan. He certainly wasn't counting on an immediate and well coordinated response. I saw him slip something from his hand into his pocket and then try to blend in with the people who were streaming away from the fire and the cook shed, into the shelter of the hogans. I wasn't about to let that happen.

"There!" I called to the others, pointing. "Short hair, red shirt, gray hat. Smells like tobacco and air freshener!" Not the best description, but it was enough to let him know hiding in plain sight wasn't going to be an option. He broke for the desert instead.

Gena fell into step beside me as I pounded after him. Wolves are fast, but we are faster. Even in human form my reflexes are preternaturally quick, my senses sharper. I couldn't smell the death magic on him when he wasn't actively using it, but I knew his individual scent well enough to track him all the way back to Los Alamos, assuming I had a trail to follow. And that was good, because as fast as we were, he was faster still. We'd gained on him in the relatively crowded area around the hogans, but out here there was nothing to slow him down. He was pulling away.

"Bird," Gena snapped, pouring on even more speed, "he's going to go bird. It only takes a few seconds. If we let him get any farther ahead..."

We couldn't keep up in human form, and in the time it would take us to undress and shift he'd be gone. Close enough to touch him, and he was still going to get away. Gena growled in frustration beside me. "_Stop_!" she yelled.

He did.

We both stopped as well, on guard against the sudden change in circumstance, but he didn't move at all. I could hear the wolves behind us, catching up. I wasn't sure they'd be so cautious in their approach. I replayed the end of the chase in my head and came up with a theory. Improbable, but maybe...

"Turn around, slowly, and keep your hands where we can see them," I ordered, giving my words the extra punch I'd discovered could compel ghosts.

He turned around, his hands extended slightly and open in the snowy air.

"Well, that changes things," I whispered. Charles and Samuel pounded up behind us, poised for action but too smart to just rush in as long as no one was bleeding. Warren and Anna were with them, and so were Ben and Scott, both furry already in anticipation of their nightly guard duties. I glanced back, worried that we were leaving Kyle and the Navajos defenseless against a second witch, but David's team was firmly in place. David himself waved to me from in front of the medicine hogan and I let my focus shift back and center itself entirely on the extremely slippery problem in front of me.

The Los Alamos pack was half a second behind the rest of the group, coming as they were from the other side of the fire. They weren't slowing down, either. I didn't want them tearing into the skinwalker before we could get answers...

"Stay back," Gena ordered, and they stopped short. Derrick didn't like that; he turned on her with his arm raised, but Samuel was there with a hand on Derrick's wrist before the blow could fall. Gena barely spared him a glance before turning back to the skin walker.

"Why is he listening to us?" she asked me softly.

"I'm not sure. I've done this before, but only with ghosts." I took a careful step forward; the witch didn't move. "Are you the one called Owl?" I asked, and he nodded even as Derrick snarled "He is" and tried to rush him again. In my peripheral vision I saw Gena jerk her chin at Derrick; he stepped back instinctively. I would have smiled if the situation weren't so deadly serious.

Owl was watching me, dead eyes in a genial face, waiting for me to make the next move. Charles took a stance between us but off to one side, where I could see him without taking my eyes off our captive, and nodded for me to proceed. _Question him, I guess._ What did I want to know?

I thought about my childhood and summoned one of Bran's fierce expressions to my face. "What are you trying to accomplish?" I demanded.

"That's not the question you should be asking me," Owl replied. "You should be asking who wants the Marrok's son dead."

Gena snarled and took a step forward. "You're the one who cursed him. I think that makes the answer 'you'."

He laughed and spread his hands a little wider. "What would I gain? Kill me if you must, but that won't be the end of your troubles."

"You want to cut a deal," I realized,

His nod carried a distinct air of used car salesman. "I can be very reasonable. For example, I can undo my previous work. No need for a muttering old man and his flock of broken down mystics. And that's just the beginning."

"Before we toast our new partnership," Samuel replied dryly, "I'd like the answers to a few very simple questions. Starting with why you cursed my brother."

Owl gave an enigmatic smile that he clearly intended to be his only comment on the matter until his terms were met. Gena had other ideas.

"_Answer him_," she commanded. "Honestly and _politely_."

The skinwalker's nonchalant expression slipped a little, resentment flashing at the corners of his mouth and eyes. "I assure you, it wasn't personal. I was merely doing a job."

"For whom?" Samuel pressed.

"That I cannot say." Gena growled and stepped forward again, ready to extract a better answer, and he held up his hands. "Truly. Our magic works best in secrets. I knew my employer by the name Snake. Clearly, not a name useful to you."

That wasn't quite true. A name was always powerful, and always revealing, even when it wasn't a true name. And the nickname wouldn't be the only thing the skinwalker knew about whoever had paid him.

"Only by that name?" Warren asked softly, and the skinwalker's facade slipped again, for just a second.

"No. But I am magically constrained from speaking any other."

"Alright, then. What does Snake want?"

"What does any human want? Comfort, security, respect-"

"What, _specifically_, are Snake's objectives as understood by you?" Gena interrupted. Owl pursed his lips like a petulant child, and Scott leaned forward to growl at him. Samuel caught Gena's shoulder before she could stomp any closer. "Answer me!"

"The elimination of the Marrok's children, followed by the elimination of the Marrok himself."

So it was about Bran after all. But why? Simply getting rid of the Marrok's bloodline would put Adam in charge of the wolves, a change that could make no difference to anyone who wasn't a wolf. And precious little difference for most of them even then. Revenge? It couldn't be about money. Surely it couldn't be about power, either. Not just anyone could step in and take over for Bran. Certainly no one around here. For that matter, how had Snake planned Bran's assassination? That had been tried before, many times. Why should his plan have suddenly worked?

"The Marrok is not easily eliminated," Charles noted.

Owl shrugged. "I didn't say it was a good plan. But I get paid either way."

"Enjoy spending your money in hell, witch," spat one of the Los Alamos wolves. Ray, if I remembered correctly. He and the rest of the pack were apparently working with a loose definition of the word 'back'; the whole group was slowly sidling around to enclose the skinwalker. They almost had him completely surrounded. For now they were maintaining a ten foot buffer zone, but it was hard to guess how long that would last. I could feel the weight of their blood lust from where I stood, and it made my skin prick.

So why hadn't Owl so much as twitched?

"Where is the other one?" I asked urgently. "The other skinwalker who worked with you Monday night?"

Owl's smile took on an edge of malice that changed his round face completely. "Nearby. Very nearby. It really might be best for us to cooperate."

Ben and Scott immediately broke off to sniff search patterns in the growing darkness. I wanted to protest that it wasn't safe, but that would have been offensive to them. Plus I wasn't the one in charge. As long as Charles didn't object, I couldn't. A few of the Los Alamos wolves turned their backs on our captive to play sentry, but none of them moved away from the group. They were still ready to kill Owl as soon as the chance presented itself. I had more questions for him before that, although I was no longer sure which ones I should be asking. I was starting to feel like the protagonist of a horror story with a wish-granting magical object, trying to find a phrasing that couldn't be twisted to my doom. Every question had to be precisely worded, every answer analyzed, to make sure we were really learning what we thought we were. It would take months to interrogate him working this way.

"I don't think we're ready to run to your arms just yet," Samuel said. He was keeping one hand on Gena's shoulder, gently discouraging any physical interrogation techniques. "What is your partner's name?"

"When I say that I would die before telling you, it is merely a statement of fact," Owl said, pleasure slipping back into his features. "Death magic. It makes for remarkably solid partnerships, even among men such as us."

"You were ready enough to sell out your employer," Samuel retorted. "He must not have you by... any such injunction. Careless on his part."

"How long has your employer, Snake, been planning this attack on the Marrok?" I asked, trying to get the interrogation moving in a useful direction again. "Explicitly, please."

It was getting harder for him to pretend indifference to being ordered around. His jaw clenched a little and his answer was clipped. "Six and a half days."

Crime of opportunity, then. Charles had shown up, and the would-be killer had seen his chance. That narrowed the suspect pool significantly. Hardly anyone knew we'd come. And the witches had had access to pack bonds. Suddenly we were all looking at the Los Alamos wolves.

"He's lying," Derrick protested. "He has to be lying. You interviewed everyone yourselves. We didn't hire him to hurt you." He moved back anyway, the pack drawing in around him, ready to fight.

I didn't think it was possible for Owl to lie outright, not to me. Not when I could command him. Warren didn't seem to think it was a falsehood either. I looked to Charles. He and Anna were the ones who'd done all the interviews; he would know if it was possible for someone to have slipped through.

"It occurs to me," he said quietly, "that a rephrasing of some of those questions might be in order."

It was possible. Someone in the Los Alamos pack might be trying to replace the Marrok.

But who? All together they might be strong enough to dominate a daycare, but not a pack, and certainly not all the packs.

"He knows," Ray said, stepping forward to point at Owl. "If it's one of us, he can say so."

"I can say nothing," Owl countered.

"What happened to cooperation?" Warren asked. "I thought you wanted to live."

"I offered help, and I'll give it. _If_ you deal with me. But I'm no good to you dead, and that's where this line of questioning is headed."

"It sounds to me," Samuel said, letting his hand slide from Gena's shoulder and strolling casually forward, "like there's not much you _can_ tell us. Not much of value. I'm not really sure you have enough to buy your life."

I knew he didn't, not after he attacked Charles. There was nothing on earth that would save that skinwalker now. But he still seemed to think there was a chance, and he clearly felt that Samuel's proximity would jeopardize his goal. For the first time I smelled fear from Owl. "I can help you. I can tell you other things, useful things."

Samuel leaned in, his eyes wolf white and his face less than a foot from the skinwalker's. "Convince me," he breathed.

"This wasn't my first personal job for Snake. The Puritan-"

I jumped backward as the scene in front of my eyes suddenly changed. Instead of a cornered skinwalker in chill dusk light I was looking at a summer forest under a full moon. A house with several outbuildings clung to a hillside between the trees; it was on fire. The smoke and the scent of blood were enough to choke me and I was suddenly sweating inside my winter coat. Owl's voice had disappeared entirely, and so had any trace of the Cornicks, Warren, Gena, and the Los Alamos pack. Unless they were the ones slinking between the buildings, but I doubted that. Whoever it was, they were good – coordinated and using cover. Here for business, violent business.

My stunned brain registered that a dark shape on the ground next to me was a werewolf. A dead werewolf.

Years worth of survival instincts pushed nervous energy into my limbs, driving me to get to ground. I glanced around, looking for a safe place to hide while I figured out what was going on, and saw a battered pickup, the tailgate down, offering itself as a convenient spot. I dove for the bed.

I didn't move.

I tried again, but it was no use. Running didn't make my feet move and crouching didn't get me closer to the ground. I tried to close my eyes and my view didn't change at all.

I never suffered from the 'show up in public in underwear' nightmares that apparently plague a lot of people, but 'paralyzed' has shown up a time or two and it still scares me plenty. There was no way I'd fallen asleep, not without magical intervention, but if this wasn't a nightmare I had no idea what it was. Not that that mattered much, since my only choice was to stand still and wait it out. I concentrated on my breathing and tried to stay calm.

Things were moving in the shadows, but they didn't seem to notice me. A big wolf drifted out of the trees, moving like a piece of the night, working his way toward the barn. Another wolf followed, maybe twenty feet behind the first, and limping. They worked their way in a wide circle around the building, wary, but studying it. Either of them could have torn through the wooden walls, so I guessed they weren't looking for an entrance. The lead wolf stopped for a moment when he reached the corpse near me; he buried his nose in the fallen one's fur and whuffed, then drew back, his muzzle curled in a silent snarl.

In the barn window, something metallic glinted.

I tested my voice and found it was as useless as the rest of my anatomy. The second wolf was at the wrong angle to see what I'd seen, although he was still coming. The bigger one was in position to notice and would be sheltered a little by debris in the yard, but he was looking the wrong way, his attention fixed on something that must be surprising. I followed his line of sight and noticed a man coming around the corner of the burning shed. He was on the short side of average, with dirty blonde hair and a weak jaw. The butt of a pistol protruded from the waistband of his jeans, and he wore it awkwardly, his step stilted by its presence. His eyes flicked to the barn window, where metal still gleamed in the firelight, and then back to the two wolves. The first was approaching the newcomer, the second coming up on his fallen comrade.

The shattering crack of a powerful rifle sounded once, twice, thrice, and both wolves went down. The man watching barely blinked. He waited a moment and then drew the gun, training it on the body of the lead wolf as he walked up and nudged a furry shoulder with one shoe. The wolf turned his head and snapped at the retreating foot, tearing a hole and drawing blood; the man jumped back, swearing, the gun unused in his fist. The rifle sounded again, four shots, and all three canine bodies were equally still. Fire reflected in the first wolf's unseeing eyes.

Before the man could check the bodies again the side of the barn splintered with a deafening crash. Since it seemed to be the sole building not on fire, I guessed I wasn't the only one who'd heard the rifle shots. The man with the gun stuffed it back into his pants and disappeared at a trot back the way he'd come, and for a long minute it was only me and three bodies and the sound of desperate fighting from the barn. The sounds stilled eventually. All movement in the smoke and shadows had stilled, too; I felt like the last soul alive until the blackness at one corner of the barn stretched and resolved itself into a limping wolf, dragging something behind him as he crossed the open space between the buildings. Something human shaped. I couldn't tell if the blood trail he was leaving was coming from him or it.

He moved slowly, power and pain warring across his frame as he tugged his burden over to the burning shed, which was closer to the barn than the burning house was. As he got close I saw that it was indeed a human he was dragging by one ankle: a woman with numerous bloody bite marks across her body and fresh gunpowder residue on her hands and face. I could smell the sharp burn of it, even over the scent of death. The new wolf, a big cream colored one with silvered ears and tail, took a firmer grip on the dead woman's leg and used it to throw her through one wall, into the heart of the flames. The motion cost him; he stood panting as the weakened roof crashed down on the body, and fresh blood ran from his chest to splatter in the dirt, but he didn't fall. He watched until the scent of burning flesh coated my throat, and then limped away on the trail the man with the gun had taken. I stayed rooted to my spot, unable to see anyone, unable to close my eyes to the horrible tableau in front of them. The shed collapsed in sparks and the tree beside it began to catch. Smoke obscured the moon. Off in the distance, three more shots sounded. I closed my eyes and found that I could.

"Mercy?"

Samuel's voice, rough with fear and right above me. I opened my eyes again to find his face filling my view and his hands on my face and neck. "Mercy, can you understand me? Do you hurt anywhere?

I expected my throat to be raw from the smoke, but it wasn't. My eyes didn't sting anymore, either. I blinked a few times and realized I was laying on the dirt. Samuel held me in place when I tried to rise.

"Mercy?" he asked again, and I saw Warren, looking anguished, hovering just behind him.

"Yeah, I'm here. And I'm fine, I think." I wiggled my fingers and toes, just to be sure. They worked just like they should. "No pain, no breaks. I'm good."

"Follow my finger, please," he said, waving said digit in front of my nose and around my face. I sighed but did as he asked, partly because he'd said please and partly because I knew he wouldn't free me until I did, and the ground was cold. Satisfied, Samuel helped me up. "What happened?" he asked as he lifted me to my feet.

I started to tell him, but the smell of blood distracted me. Gena lay nearby, her eyes red and her limbs shaking. Anna crouched at her side. Charles stood between us, his unfaltering gaze pinning the Los Alamos pack in place. And in front of the Los Alamos wolves were the remains of the man we'd known only as Owl. I gulped and turned my head. "What happened?" I whispered.

Samuel glanced at the mess and back to me. "You and Gena both dropped like rocks in a well. They didn't want to give him time to kill you." His tone expressed some skepticism; he wasn't buying my safety as the only reason the Los Alamos wolves had pounced. But he hadn't stopped them, either, and he could have. I was just glad that I didn't smell violence on him personally. "It took too long; he kept refusing to die. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I don't think it was Owl," I told him. Behind Charles, the ghost Gena had called Paul was watching me with dispassionate eyes.

I didn't have time to explain what I had seen, though, because Gena was rolling to her feet. I couldn't tell if it was weakness or rage trembling through her, but the murder on her face was plain. "You," she snarled, turning on the remnants of her pack. "One of you did it. One of you paid to kill Jonah."

The pack collectively backed up a step.

"Gena," Samuel interrupted sharply, his posture warning her that this wasn't her show to run. A human might not have stopped, but Gena was a wolf, and even though she was an extremely dominant one she had nothing on Samuel. She looked like he'd asked her to cut off her own arm, but she obeyed the silent command.

"I can tell," she said softly, pleading, her eyes moving from Samuel to Charles and back without stopping. "The moon is nearly full. I can tell which one of them did this, no matter how slippery he is."

It was her pack, as much as it was anyone's. She hadn't been released yet. The pack magic would be waxing with the moon, the bonds wide open and flooded with secrets for someone strong enough to take charge of them. It was one of the things I hated about being pack, but it was exactly what we needed right now. Charles looked at her and nodded.

She didn't waste time on Derrick; he was too young a wolf to have known Jonah. I was worried he might fight her, since she was impinging pretty heavily on his territory, but he had more sense than I'd originally given him credit for. Maybe he saw it as submitting to Charles, instead, or maybe he just wanted to know who the traitor was too badly to interfere. Whatever the reason, he stood his ground silently, fiercely unhappy but cooperative all the same.

Their shy submissive, Zack, looked up as she moved in front of him; not meeting her eyes, of course, but not hiding from them, either. For the first time in my experience, he didn't seem nervous. "Zack," she said, "tell me it wasn't you."

"I would have died to protect Jonah and the others. I would never have killed him, and certainly never hired or helped someone else to. It wasn't me." His voice was quiet but confident, and even I could smell the truth in it. Gena, her eyes faded now from red to deep brown, was satisfied. She clapped him on the shoulder and moved on.

Gena was two people further down the line when she twitched to the side and the scent of magic, skinwalker magic, burst over me, followed immediately by more blood. Gena's green shirt suddenly had a gaping hole beneath her right arm, its edges rapidly darkening. The black magic surged again and something rustled the bushes behind the Los Alamos wolves, moving away from us in a hurry.

"It's him," Gena gasped, pushing through the remnants of her pack in pursuit of someone I couldn't see. Anna darted after and snagged her by the shoulders, pulling her back as Charles ordered "Kill him!" It wasn't until then that I realized the Los Alamos pack was down one wolf. Ray, the acting second. He must be the one fleeing, but he wasn't doing it as man or wolf. Whatever he'd become, though, he was moving away at a surprising speed.

Human bodies weren't going to cut it, and none of us had time to change. Scott and Ben, though, didn't need time. They came from opposite sides, barreling through the brush after what I could now tell was a rattlesnake, the biggest I'd ever seen. Ben's wolf was lanky and long legged, built for speed, but Scott was a little closer and running even faster, and he got there first. In the darkness I couldn't see exactly what happened as they came together, but I could hear the snake striking and Scott's teeth snapping shut. They rolled together in the brush for a moment, Scott's momentum carrying them away from us a dozen feet or so before they tumbled to a stop. Ben nearly ran them over as he caught up.

The tangle moved again. Scott staggered to his feet, shook himself, and ducked his nose to the ground. When his head rose again he had something clamped between his jaws. His tail went up and he trotted back to us, limping a little on his left front paw, an eight foot diamond back trailing from his teeth. Ben followed, stiff-legged in irritation at having his prey stolen, his lip curled in disdain.

Scott dropped the snake at Charles' feet with an enthusiasm that separated its head from the rest of the body. His tail wagged once. A massive black paw descended on the snake's pale underbelly and split the scales, spilling hot entrails onto the dirt. Scott extricated something from the mess and took it over to Gena, laid it on the ground in front of her. At a guess I'd say it was a liver.

While I'd been distracted by the chase, Samuel had ripped the fabric from the bottom half of her shirt and was now pressing it to her ribs. Since she was still standing and he looked more irritated than alarmed, I assumed it was not a life-threatening wound. As Scott sat in front of her she clamped an elbow over the impromptu bandage and bent to throw her free arm over his neck (she was short and wolves aren't; she didn't have to move very far). She laid her face against the top of his head, and even though he had to still be hyped up from the chase he bore the touch as calmly as if he were a well-loved family retriever being patted by a toddler. His tail, the only part of him that was moving, swept a clear spot in the dirt.

"Warren," I said as calmly as I could manage, "I think he was bitten. Would you mind having a look?" Neither Samuel nor Charles had done violence or touched an animal; the sing was still on. The death of the skinwalker was supposed to end the curse, but I didn't have details on that, and since there was only one more night to the ceremony we might as well finish it off right. Warren nodded and moved slowly over to kneel beside Scott. I didn't think rattlesnake venom could do too much to a werewolf, but better safe than sorry.

Anna was crouched on the ground in front of the shell-shocked remnants of the Los Alamos pack. She fished a paper napkin out of her jacket pocket and used it to pluck something out of the dirt. "It reeks," she said, holding it up for her mate to see. A knife, short and sharp and swimming in skinwalker stench. He must have put everything he had into that last push to escape. I didn't smell anything coming from Gena, though. Skinwalker magic didn't stick to us. He must not have known.

"We should finish the questioning," Anna suggested. "Just in case."

Derrick looked decidedly strained, but he didn't argue. Not when she mentioned it, and not when Gena drew her suddenly exhausted face out of Scott's fur and resumed her place in front of his wolves. She still had the bandage clamped to her side, but she managed an aggressive and graceful stride despite it. I suspected she'd pay for that in the not-so-distant future, but she wasn't about to show weakness in present company.

The questioning proceeded so swiftly that it was done almost as soon as it started. There was no fight left in any of the wolves except Derrick and, surprisingly, Zack. I remembered what it had felt like when Mary Jo died and then pictured that three times in a week. And Mary Jo's death had been the fault of vampires, not a betrayal from within the pack. No wonder they all looked ready to crawl away on their bellies and hide.

"I have concluded my investigation," Charles informed them, "and sentences have been carried out. The remainder of this pack will be broken up and separated immediately. For now, you can return to the hogans." After a minute they began heading that direction, Derrick gently chivvying them on, like a shepherd with reluctant sheep. The nine of us stayed, arrayed in a lose circle around the mangled bodies of the two skin walkers.

"I seem to have missed all the fun," Stefan said from beside me. "Care to fill me in?"


End file.
